


A cat in a corner

by AphroditeB00w



Series: Shadow People [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Otabek Altin, Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Eventual Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, I'm sorry not sorry, Just had to, Long-Haired Yuri Plisetsky, M/M, POV Yuri Plisetsky, Slow Burn, cliffhangers are my thing, lots of kazahk names, maybe it works i dont know, otabek is sexy af, sexuality discoveries, some back story, yaakov is a lech, yuri is an angry fighty smol boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-09-24 17:44:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 82,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9776936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AphroditeB00w/pseuds/AphroditeB00w
Summary: "You don't own me." Yuri spat at the stone-faced man across from him."No," Altin agreed mildly, adjusting the cuff of his suit. "But you are owned."Yuri Plisetsky is a reluctant underling in Yaakov's organization in mother Russia. But everything starts shifting and stirring up when he starts working with Otabek Altin, the informant for the criminal gods. His once slumbering sexuality is shocked awake, and the careful facade covering his hate for Yaakov is cracked when he learns that Viktor is not dead after all..





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> apparently, this monster had been born and now I am following through.

****

Yuri splashed his face in the tepid water from the basin which supposed to be stainless steel, but had long streaks of red red rust dripping from every rivet and connection. He tried not to let the disgusting water get into his mouth, knowing he would rather die of thirst than drink the shitty stuff.

Then he tried to take stock.

Yaakov had been less than concerned to find out that Yuri had been caught and put into a cell without even an interrogation.

“Get me out of here.” Yuri had growled into the phone.

“Ai, he doesn’t even say please.” Yaakov had responded distractedly.

“Please.” Yuri added with ill-grace.

There as a long suffering sigh, vibrating against the phone receiver and making the connection static for a moment. Yuri gripped the cheap plastic receiver that was the prison communal phone hard and willed patience into his mind.

“You see, Yura.” Yaakov started, very reasonable. “I think that there is a lesson to be learned, here. Or there, where you are.”

“what.” Yuri bit out, disbelieving what he was hearing.

“Well, I think you may have gone a little soft, under your previous teacher, yes? Maybe a little time in prison can harden you up again.”

It had been over a year since Viktor had up and left, without so much as a backward glance at Yuri, but Yaakov still questioned everything that Yuri was because of the association, no matter how many hoops he jumped through.

“No. boss, I need to get out of here.” He said, nearly begging if it weren’t for the fact he sounded so pissed.

Yaakov chuckled in a humourless way. “Think of it as a test. Don’t worry too much, I’ll be keeping an eye out for you. And anyway, I have something that need to be handled from the inside. Surely you can do this for me?”

Yuri clenched his eyes tightly shut, knowing that Yaakov wasn’t going to budge. Wondering if perhaps he had eve orchestrated this entire fucking situation.

“fine.” He eventually replied tightly.

“Very good!” Yaakov crowed on the line like Yuri had done a clever trick. “You’ll be contacted soon, Yura. Until then, don’t get raped.”

The line went dead, and Yuri stared at the horribly off-colour tiles on the hallway floor for some time before hanging up himself.

“ _Don’t get raped_.” He muttered, shoving his hands into the pouch pockets of the stiff green prison uniform and hating the rough feel of it. “Fuck you, Yaakov.”

 


	2. 2

The first time someone had come up behind Yuri aiming to use his hair as leverage, Yuri had seen it coming.

Yaakov was such a fucker.

The fact was this; Yuri knew he was pretty. He may have railed against it earlier on his life, hating the symmetry of his features, the warm pallor of his skin, and the delicate green of his eyes. He may even have cultivated his current abrasive, ornery persona in an effort to balance it out, but it was a fact that he couldn’t change without actively cutting at his own face. And he wasn’t inclined towards self –harm in the least. When Yaakov had given his tiny, fourteen year old self the nickname of ‘Fairy’ he’d been violently embarrassed, especially when it caught on to the point where some of his colleagues had already forgotten his real name. Forgotten that he hadn’t always been one of Yaakov’s peons.

No one had called him ‘Yuri’ really, since his grandfather had died.

In any case, he was attractive on an average day, but now he was in an all-male prison, where the rule was; be predator, or be prey. Find your place and follow the rules and you may survive. Deceivingly, Yuri looked like prey; pretty, waist length blonde hair, a slim dancers figure. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t seem to make physically obvious his considerable strength.

He knew that eyes had been assessing him for the past week. He remained a loner, not associating with anyone he didn’t absolute have to, waiting on instructions he suspected wouldn’t come. Until then, he was watchful. Yaakov’s protection extended as far as he felt like it, and judging from the lascivious glances directed his way, and the obvious licking of lips and kissing noises left in his wake, it wasn’t extending very far at all.

Yaakov was such a _fucker_.

So when he was washing up in the showers, already dressed but combing his hair away from his face, tying it into a wet plait, he wasn’t surprised to meet his first attacker.

Yuri experienced it all in a lazy slow motion. He ducked and twisted, twirling around a man twice his size until he was the one at his back. The man had short hair, so he put a foot on the jut of his balcony of an ass, and launched himself upwards. Before the large gorilla of a man could react, Yuri had landed neatly with legs around his neck and digging his fingers into his eyes. With a scream, the man stepped back and Yuri held on tight, jerking his own weight backwards and adding the last of the momentum to topple him.

As the gorilla slipped on the wet floor and fell back, Yuri executed a graceful back flip, landing in perfect synchronisation with the wet crack of his head hitting the mouldy tiles. Ignoring the man’s groans and curses, and aware than he was gathering an audience, he skipped forward to land with a heavy heel into the man chest, knowing it would likely leaving a horrible bruise, worst case was that it might have cracked a rib or two. Knowing he couldn’t leave it there, he stood with legs on either side of his chest, and brought his fist around in a calculated swing, punching the gorillas already many times broken nose hard enough to make it bleed.

The gorilla’s small eyes were furious as he screeched incoherently at Yuri, and Yuri returned it with an equally furious scream. Then he turned to the watching crowd, which was showing equal parts being entertained, astonished and amused. He gestured to himself.

“Anyone else?” he asked with an upward tilt to his chin.

The silence was answer enough, and Yuri picked up his towel and left the bathroom.

He wasn’t prey. Oh no.

 

-*-

It wasn’t enough to keep people away permanently. Yuri was still jostled from time to time, hissed at on the sly, because people couldn’t ever take a hint. Sometimes he had to fight them off, and he didn’t care how many bruises he inflicted or penalties landed him in isolation, he refused to be anyone bitch. If he lost even once, it would be over.

But it could only last so long. Apart from some minor inside contacts Yaakov had asked him to speak to about nothing urgent, his employer didn’t seem at all inclined to remove Yuri from what was to him an unhygienic kind of hell.

Considering that he was arrested dealing Yaakov’s drugs, he thought this was incredibly unfair. But Yaakov wasn’t known for fairness in any sense. On the contrary, he was known for his whip temper and his complete an utter disinclination to forgive even the smallest slight.

It was amazing to Yuri that he had let Viktor go at all, after discovering he was gay. Considering Yaakov’s very stern lectures to Yuri since Viktor disappearance, he would have thought Yaakov would rather have killed him tan let anyone know that his once trophy subordinate liked fucking men.

But since then, since Viktor had left him and the syndicate, Yaakov had taken to either continually testing Yuri’s loyalty to his name and watching over his shoulder like a hawk in case Viktor’s sexuality had rubbed off on him somehow. It didn’t matter how much Yuri reassured him that he didn’t like anyone at all, in any way, it wasn’t enough. Yuri suspected Yaakov would only be satisfied if Yuri fucked three woman under his nose.

The fact that Yuri strongly suspected he _was_ gay was another reason to keep his mouth shut and punt his pretended asexuality as hard as possible.

He couldn’t speak to anyone about it, not anymore. So he didn’t speak about anything.

A month into his incarceration, his luck ran out. He was staring at the concrete, musing the eternal determination of weeds that found crack in the solid top above the ground and pushed through, seeking the sun. No matter how many time they were plucked, destroyed or trodden down, they still came out, and the derelict courtyard was full of them.

He was still sporting several bruises from the previous night’s attack that as usual he did not initiate, when he watched three men approach him from different sides of the courtyard. Since Yuri was used to watching for small movements, it wasn’t subtle in the least. He shifted himself against the wall of the prison, so that no one could sneak up on him, and eyed his opposition.

It didn’t look promising. One he could do, maybe even two. But three would be his limit. His teeth gritted hard at the thought of losing a fight, and what that would mean. He wasn’t afraid, not really, but he was highly annoyed. He pumped bellows of that emotion higher, to cover the tremble of horror that accompanied it.

“Don’t believe in fighting fair?” he asked low when the first of the man came within range.

The second man heard and shook his head with a sick smile. “No, we don’t. And also, we know our odds.”

“Cowards.” Yuri added simply, because it was true. But the two men shrugged.

“It won’t matter, when we bend you over for us.” The first man, with an untidy slash running from his ear to his cheek, countered, liking his mouth. Yuri made a disgusted noise.

“Yaakov won’t be happy.” Yuri tried as one last deterrent.

The scarred man laughed and nudged his friend, as if sharing some inside joke. That’s when Yuri knew he really was on his own. _Fuck_.

The third man wasn’t chuckling along though, large though he was, he didn’t seem as eager as the other two. He didn’t intervene however, when the first two came close, and Yuri saw the flash of a shiv. He realised then that these men intended to rape him right here, in the courtyard, probably taking turns with him while the other two subdued him and blocked the view from the lackadaisical guards.

Yuri at least landed the first blow, manging the crunch of a nose and head butting the other before he felt the sharp slice of the shiv puncturing his side. He bit back his cry and the scarred man used the chance to grab Yuri’s hair and yank him backwards.

The disgusting breath was hot on his neck as he sniffed into the locks eagerly. “I’ve fantasised about holding this while I fuck you, Fairy.”

Yuri struggled but the shiv was sharp at his neck and he was being told to be still, just still and maybe enjoy it. All the while he thrashed and bit and yanked, expressing his refusal in every possible way.

Then there was an exchanged of word in a language he did not know, but sounded familiar, as he was pushed hard against the wall while it happened. It was only the fact that it was another’s much heavier body pressed fully against his that kept him from escaping, though he didn’t stop trying.

Then the weight was abruptly gone and he came around fists raised. The first two rapists were looking peeved but had backed off, while the third man had stepped forward, seemingly unaffected by the events.

“If you think coming in gentle will change my mind, think again.” Yuri spat at him, tasting blood in his mouth. “I will bite your fucking dick off.”

The man smirked. “Even if it gets you killed?”

“Especially if it gets me killed.” Yuri answered eyes shooting murderous glares at the other two.

“Ai, it will not be necessary.” The man replied and Yuri noticed he wore a thin gold chain which disappeared into this uniform. That was interesting, considering no one was allowed jewellery. Which meant that this was not just another inmate, but a placement, like he was supposed to be. Being a placement meant you had outside protection, which he was supposed to have.

Yuri stayed crouched, ready for attack as his mind whirled. Was this Yaakov’s man? Was he waiting until Yuri was in a situation he couldn’t deal with? It was possible, since Yuri wasn’t privy to most of Yaakov operation any way. But he wasn’t Russian, that was certain, and Yaakov could be something of a purist about that.

The man called another word over his shoulder, again in the unfamiliar language, and the other two huffed but left.

“Enjoy your blue balls.” Yuri called after them. His would be rescuer have him an incredulous look.

“For someone who was nearly raped to death, you have very little self-preservation instinct,” he remarked.

Yuri ignored that. “Who are you and why did you stop them? Planning of keeping m for yourself?”

The man made a disgusted noise. “No thank you. I do not fuck boys.”

Yuri refrained from defending his age because it would sound counter intuitive. “And you are?”

“I am Sezim, and you are welcome.”

Yuri wasn’t ready to thank someone whose agenda he didn’t know. “What’s the point in thanking you when you are just going to make me owe you something? And Sezim isn’t a Russian name”

The man called Sezim winked at Yuri then, “You are correct, I suppose. On both counts. Sezim is a Kazakhstan name and the favour you no owe is to my employer.”

Yuri finally eased up out of his crouch but left his hands loose. “Fuck you. I owe no-one anything, I’m one of Yaakov’s men, and he will owe no-one a favour unless he has approved it first.”

Sezim appeared surprised. “Are you? Was it he who let you be nearly raped over and over again this past few weeks? That doesn’t sound like he is looking after you very well.”

Yuri had no response to this, because it was very obvious that Yaakov was a thin security blanket now. Sezim nodded at his silence and went on.

“tomorrow.” He said, turning away from Yuri, hands in pockets. “Tomorrow, you will meet _my_ boss.”

Yuri watched Sezim saunter off until a sting reminded him he was still bleeding.

 

 

 

 

 


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi!!!!  
> I am sorry for not updating sooner, you know, life happened.  
> I will keep updating though! And your comments make it happen faster. Excuse typos!

It was during breakfast the following day that Yuri found himself being escorted by a guard to one of the visiting rooms.

That in itself was unusual. Visiting hours were a non- negotiable thing, and if you had visitors in the first place, you were expected to find your way there yourself. Yet, here he was, being removed from the food queue in front of everyone, and led away. Sezim, a few people behind him in the line, managed to send I’m a wink that was so full of mischief Yuri almost reacted.

Then he was sitting in a scuffed orange char, across a plain white table, waiting in a cement coloured room, his left foot bouncing in a quick rhythm. When Otabek Altin stepped into the room, with another man close behind him, Yuri’s eyes widened.

He had only actually seen Otabek Altin once before, and that had been through the proverbial keyhole, while he was in a meeting with Yaakov. Yuri had seen it by accident, while walking, but his eyes had found Yaakov’s horrible green hat sitting in restaurant and then seen Altin sitting across from him.

Where Yaakov, no matter how expensive a suit he wore, always managed to make it seem second hand, Altin was always pristine, his clothes fitting him perfectly, moulded to his skin. His face never changed expression and his hair was combed back without a hair out of place. As he unbuttoned his suit jacket to sit, Yuri wondered if every single crease in his coal black suit was pre-set to fold _just_ that way.

Otabek Altin fixed him with a bored stare, hands folded across his lap and Yuri instantly felt his hackles rise. Just another criminal, just another businessman.

“What do you want?” he said.

The only reaction from the other man was a slight widening of his eyes, and a slow blink. “I expected a less hostile greeting.”

Yuri frowned, slouching further into his seat, knowing he was behaving like an asshole and not caring. “Why is that?”

“Because I saved you from being violently abused or worse.” Altin explained evenly.

Yuri pushed an errant hair out of his face. “So I heard.”

Otabek blinked again.” You don’t think that deserves some kind of gratitude?”

“No one gets anything for nothing. So I’m here, waiting to hear what you want from me, or from saving me. So no, I’m _not_ grateful.”

Altin watched him with an expression so flat Yuri began to feel uncomfortable. The man who had come in with him, standing still by the entry door, was also a blank slate. But where he looked simply empty, the expression on Altin’s face was simply something in place while the gears in his mind worked.

“You are right. Ridiculous of me, expecting a ‘thank you.’” He said eventually, just a shade of sarcasm in his tone. “I do require you.”

“Fine.” Yuri said. “Honesty suits me.”

“My man, Sezim, says you fight using capoeira techniques.”

Yuri shrugged. “So?”

“You were taught by Viktor Nikiforov, yes?”

Yuri stilled, momentarily robbed of anything to say. It had been years since he had heard the man’s name.

“Ah, no response?” Altin said, seemingly unruffled but Yuri knew it had been a calculated attack. “I ask because he was an excellent fighter, and I need to know if he was an excellent teacher as well.”

“Why? He’s gone, left.”

Altin, once again, showed his surprise by the most minuscule way possible, Yuri was almost unsure it was there at all. “Left? Hmm. No.” he said mildly. “No, the reason I want to know is because I am in need of a smaller man, with skill and clever hands. I am told you might suit my purposes.”

But Yuri was bolt upright in his orange chair. “What do you mean, he’s not dead?” Yuri demanded, mind racing. “Are you fucking with me? Just to see what I’ll do?”

Altin was unaffected, but his man was more alert now. “My only interest in you today is whether you are willing to do a job for me.”

“Tell me what you meant!”

“No.” Altin retorted calmly. “I am not here to speak of Nikiforov. I am here to offer you a job.”

Yuri slumped back hard in his seat, irrationally angry ad confused. “Asshole.”

“Nonetheless.”

He and Yuri stared at each other from over the white Formica table, Yuri shooting daggers with his eyes, clenched fists and body curled in tension. Altin, by contrast, behaved as if he were simply having coffee with an acquaintance.

“If you want my hands, you need to speak to Yaakov.”

Altin looked pensive. “I was the one who rescued you, it’s my name that gives your protection even now, in this place, and it was by my request that you were brought here now.”

“You don’t own me.” Yuri spat at the stone-faced man in front of him.

 

-8-

"No," Altin agreed mildly, adjusting the cuff of his suit. "But you are owned."

Otabek Altin sighed internally, confronted by a cat in a corner.

He knew about the Fairy. He knew about _everyone_. But he had clearly underestimated the effect of being inside a prison would do to an already ornery personality. Yuri Plisetsky, a man in his early twenties, hissed and spat like a stray caught with nowhere to run.

It was either out of blind loyalty or cold fear that someone like this stayed under Yaakov’s thumb this long. And either because of entertainment value or bargain that Yaakov tolerated him. Or something more sinister.

He knew that Plisetsky couldn’t be so dense as not to be aware that Yaakov Feltsman had dropped in in this prison as a kind of sick experiment. Whether to see how long Yuri would last before begging, or whether he would survive at all, Otabek didn’t know or care. This was Feltsman past time. However, Sezim had alerted him to the small man’s presence in the prison and it had piqued his interest. Sezim had since told him he had potential use, and then added that he found it strange that Yaakov would leave such a useful minion for vultures and wolves.

It was true, Otabek did need a man for a finicky sort of job. But in the privacy of his own mind, he had never interacted with the famous Nikiforov protégée and this was an opportunity. Not only to see if rumours of his rudeness had accuracy (they did) but to understand why the young man, who had never left Nikiforov’s side in the past, still worked for the man who had nearly killed his teacher.

As it turned out, Yuri was ignorant.

Otabek didn’t now whether pleased or disgusted him.

Either way, the meeting had turned out more interesting than he’d anticipated

He pulled his mind back to the matter in hand, and the angry, blond Russian man sitting across from him.

“So, since you insist, I will speak to Yaakov, and ask for your services. “He relented slightly, seeing the sharpness in Yuri’s unwavering glare. Even if he was afraid of Yaakov, he certainly wasn’t afraid of Otabek Altin. And from what Sezim passed along, he chose stupidity and violence over fear and safety on any given day. “But I will ask you again, do you wish to work with me, for this time alone?”

Yuri’s eyes flickered, surprised and wary. As Otabek had suspected, Yuri wasn’t often asked for his opinion on how his skills were spent.

He only crossed him arms again. “Ask. Yaakov.”

If Otabek Altin was the type to roll his eyes, he would have then.

 

-8-

 

But a few days later, Yuri once again found himself being escorted out, but this time all the way down the long passage leading to the front offices, into a plain room with a wooden bench set into the wall. Waiting for him on said bench, was the sealed plastic bag containing everything he had been wearing the day he’d been chucked in there, just over a month before.

There had been no word, no call from Yaakov saying he had handed Yuri over. So in actual fact, Yuri had no clue what was really happening when he saw the taxi settled just a little to conspicuously to be just standing there.

“Yuri Plisetsky?” the driver coughed at him, sounding like he would cough of a blackened lung, then taking another drag of his cheap cigarette.

He got in and let himself be taken to lands unknown, because this wasn’t unusual in the least.

He had been fidgety since the visit from Altin. Apart from his fairly accurate assumption that Yaakov owned him, there was the not too subtle mention of the fact that Viktor had _not_ left. And that was information so alien, so outlandish he didn’t know what to do about it.

Viktor had been confronted by Yaakov, and deciding he would rather not stay under Yaakov’s totalitarian rule, had packed up and left. The last time Yuri had seen him was behind a bar, kissing another man. That had been years ago. Yaakov had told him, with gentility that belied his naturally cruel temperament that Viktor had chosen to leave, of his own free will. Because his kind were not tolerated.

Did Yuri know what he meant?

Yuri hadn’t needn’t a written message to tell him that he had to swear up down and sideways that he was most definitely not influenced by Viktor’s perversions, that he had no idea, that he found Viktor disgusting. That he loathed the man as much Yaakov did.

Well, _that_ part had been true. He did loath Viktor, but not because he was homosexual. Because he had left Yuri. Without a word. Without a message. Yuri had arrived back at their flat two days later, and found anything that was Viktor, including Makkanin, gone. The photos, the vodka, the dog dish.

Viktor had left him.

Yuri had raged at himself at the fact that if Viktor had even breathed a thought that Yuri would come with him, he would have gone. He had loved him, without knowing it, all that time. Perhaps more than a student had loved a teacher. And it hurt more than broken bones that Viktor so clearly hadn’t felt even remotely the same.

Well, that had been then. Since he had survived, hadn’t he? He was still alive, even if Yaakov treated him like an animal to be watched and toyed with. No, worse than that, this last unfortunate prison incident had changed Yuri’s thinking somewhat.

He would have to get out somehow. But the mere thought of that, the impossibility of that idea was so huge, Yuri pushed it to the back of his mind until he could get some drink in him.

The taxi stopped outside a café, and the cabby looked at him with eyes ringed in tired shadows, through air heavy with cheap smoke.  That was another thing. Yuri was dying for a smoke.

All in all, the creature that was Yuri Plisetsky was pissed off. In the absolute sense of the word. You could put in him and turn it on, if you wanted a glass of distilled aggravation at everything both inside and outside of Yuri.

“Hey!” the cabby called. “Where’s my fare?”

In response, Yuri placed a kick so hard at the open passenger door, that it shattered the window glass. The effect was ruined by the fact that it was security glass and all it did was split into a million interlocking diamonds.

“Fuck off.” He snarled before turning around, shoving his hands into the musty pockets of his leopard print jacket. His favourite. And now the smell of mildew would never come out.

Fuck police. Fuck Yaakov.

Fuck Otabek Altin, who was waiting at a small round table, drinking a steaming cup of coffee, as if he hadn’t noticed Yuri’s outburst in the public street at all. The other patrons whoever, had and were all staring at Yuri with a mixture of fear and outraged disapproval. Yuri ignored them all, plonked himself down in the Avant garde wrought iron seat across from Altin, and glared.

“Would it kill you to give me a heads up before abducting me?” he said,

“About as much as it would kill you to develop manners, apparently.”  Altin replied, taking another sip of coffee, still not looking at Yuri. Instead, the passing pedestrians and cursing cab driver seemed far more interesting. Said driver was currently being paid and appeased by a sombre faced individual, who Yuri recognised from before, when Altin had visited.

“Anyway, you got me out here.” Yuri went on. “I assume Yaakov gave you his blessing. How may I be of service?”

“I have never heard an offer made with such insincerity.” Altin replied with a mild sigh. “First, have you eaten?”

Yuri was taken aback. “What? No, not since breakfast.”

“Order something. The prison meals aren’t particularly nutritious. No doubt you’re craving something that doesn’t taste like someone else already ate it.”

Yuri blinked, a harsh word or two on his tongue, but stalled. The truth was, he was fucking hungry. He closed his mouth to keep from looking a fool, then opened it again.

“Don’t suppose you have a smoke?”

Altin fished inside his coat and pulled out a pack and lighter, before sliding it over to him without a glance. Yuri’s craving outweighed his caution and he took it, with a mumbled ‘thanks’.

“Praises be, he said thank you.” Altin quipped before slanting a look at Yuri. “The surprises never cease.”

It was that look, that particular look, that, had Yuri been a cat, would have set all of his fur on end. As it was, he simply sat with the unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth for a moment before looking away and lighting it behind a cupped hand.

 _Why?_ Of all people, why was it _Altin_ that suddenly disturbed his slumbering sexuality? Yuri blew the smoke out like it had caused him personal grievance. Then he remembered he was smoking Altin’s cigarettes and that made it worse.

“Anyway, after we eat, then what?” he asked, already halfway through the stick.

“I assume you want to go and change.” Altin said, again, eyes elsewhere. “And then, you earn your keep.”

Yuri ordered and extra-large beef burger, and ate only half, out of spite.

 

-8-

 

After a much sleeker, more soundless trip in what was obviously Otabek’s private car, and a quick trip to his minimalist flat to change and pick up an extra set of clothes, Yuri slouched back into the passenger seat beside Otabek, feeling out of place.

“You didn’t say how long this job would be, so I only brought one other set of clothes.” He said, looking out the window, chin in hand.

“As long as you packed your toothbrush.” Altin replied.

Yuri whipped his head around for a glare. “I’m not a fucking child.”

Altin managed to convey sarcastic disbelief with barely a raised eyebrow, “Oh really?”

“Fuck you.”

“So concise. Until now you have behaved exactly like a child having a tantrum, making this entire process tedious and boring. When you decide to really sit down and think about your situation, you will see that I fact, if I were a more violent or spiteful sort of person, like your boss for example, I would have left to you to rot and be raped to death in that vile gutter of a prison.”

Yuri was speechless. Even though it was all delivered in an even, flat tone, Altin still managed to convey the menace. And make Yuri realise exactly how delicate his position really was.

“I…” he started, then bit the inside of his cheek angrily. “I was...mmm. Thank you.”

“For?”

“Not letting me rot in prison.” Yuri said a small, growly sort of voice, refusing to even look at that side of the car.

“Well, as you said, nothing comes without a price. But your thanks is accepted nonetheless.”

There was a gentle humming silence as the car sped over grey road and past blurred buildings.

“Did Yaakov …say what he was going to do with me? After we’re done?” Yuri said eventually, into the silence. To look at him, he was frowning, picking at a stray thread on his tiger stripped hoodie, but his voice was hesitant.

Otabek spared him a small glance, though it wasn’t met, and appeared thoughtful. “No. He did not.”

Yuri folded his arms, and slouched back into the seat, staring sightlessly out the window.

 

-8-

Otabek was many things. But the point of being Otabek Altin was not to let others know this. Otabek Altin was unreadable, unless he wanted to be. And Otabek Altin was as good at reading others as he was at hiding himself.

And he watched the younger man now, he reflected that even though he gave off the impression of being an older man, he was only four years older than Yuri Plisetsky. They were two opposites; Yuri acting far younger than he really was, and Otabek with a reputation and aura many older men wished they had. Yuri dressed like a street punk, oversized, tiger-striped jacket and Otabek, dressed for a business trip. Yuri’s long blonde hair was escaping his plait already, looking dun and oily. He should have insisted he take a shower too.

If Otabek had to look at it from a psychological stand point, he would say that it was the years of working under Yaakov’s severe, strangulating hand, and the aftermath of Viktor’s ostracism that made Yuri this way, more prickly than a porcupine. That being small, being pretty and being Viktor student had been the worst ingredients in an organisations like Feltsman.

That, and Yuri enjoyed not giving a shit about what other people thought.

He wondered how it felt, knowing your boss was willing to let you die in prison, then farm you out like a whore?

“What do you know about Viktor?” Yuri piped up, his usual caustic tone absent.

Otabek continued to glance through his phone as he spoke. “Hmm. I am not in the habit of sharing information without a price first.”

Otabek felt Yuri’s head whip around. The man was all lightning quick movements, still on edge from being in survival mode. It was probably a good thing, considering what he needed him to do.

“What do you want then?” Yuri demanded.

Inside, Otabek smiled, but it never reached his face. He did however, look to Yuri, seeking out the glittering green again. “You couldn’t afford it.”

“Fuck you.” Yuri spat at him, his usual retort fast losing its effectiveness.

It had been a long time since Otabek had felt like teasing, felt like being or saying anything that wasn’t absolutely necessary, but the blond man made it too tempting. “Hmm, no thank you. I don’t sleep with children.”

“But you sleep with men?” the words were obviously meant to nettle, but they slid off of Otabek like oil.

“Sometimes, if the mood takes me.” It wasn’t a complete lie, since he made it sound as if this wasn’t a rare thing it really was.

There was stunned silence from the other side of the car, which Otabek found amusing in spite of himself.

“You had better not let Yaakov hear you say that.” Yuri replied eventually, muted and the nettle in his voice gone.

Otabek met those green eyes again, seeing them curious, and answered. “Yaakov doesn’t own me, and he wishes that I feared him enough. In any case, it’s hardly anyone’s business but mine.”

Yuri said nothing to that, and the rest of the trip was silent, and thoughtful.


	4. 4

Yuri had a love hate relationship with suits.

On the one hand, they looked good. And Otabek’s bottomless bank account could afford to put him in something custom made for his longer frame and wide shoulders. He couldn’t say anything more about the ensemble other than it was black and white and expensive, but as he observed himself in the mirror of the store, he could admit he looked damn good.

On the other hand, suits were stiff, unbending and had to be worn just so or they looked like shit, which made Yuri feel like he was wearing a very pretty rulebook.

“Stop slouching.” Otabek instructed him mildly without looking his way. “You will ruin the lines.”

Yuri refrained from childishly repeating Otabek’s words back at him in a childish imitation, aware that tonight he had to look, and act, like he was on the clock. Which he was.

They were in Kazakhstan that was the extent of Yuri’s knowledge. A car and driver had picked them up from where Altin’s private jet had landed and had then taken them to a tailors, where a small, wizened looking man had garbled on in a language Yuri didn’t recognise as he measured the inside of Yuri’s legs and arms. Then they had gotten back in the car, suited and ready, and were now driving along the well-kept streets of some obviously upmarket suburb, with houses and estates big enough for theme parks.

 Otabek had said it was a fund raising dinner, made it sound simple and mundane, but as the car pulled up to the front of the colonial white building the size of several houses, Yuri’s eyes widened then glared accusingly at Otabek.

This was a _small_ thing?

Every kind of flashy, over-priced automobile was there already, their keys being handed over to valets and driven away to some unknown assumingly safe other parking. They extruded men and women dressed in a similar way to Yuri, and probably with similar price tags, the women all glitter and silk and sultry fabric, the men drawn in fine stark lines and graceful monotone.

He had been trying to avoid looking at Otabek the whole night, before unlike Yuri, the older, taller man was wider and thicker and looked entirely too perfect. His ever present laconic expression was marred with a slight frown now though as he looked at Yuri, and the blonde unconsciously straightened his shoulders, then felt like an idiot.

“I thought you were going to tie up your hair?” Otabek complained, his body turned towards him slightly in the back seat. They were still waiting in the car queue and steadily getting closer.

“I thought this was just a little dinner.” Yuri retorted. “Actually, it looks like a royal gala.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Otabek sighed at him. “It’s a dinner, and it doesn’t matter. You know what you need to know, and your job starts from now, so pay attention to everything and anything.”

As much as Yuri wanted to shoot back with something witty or at least annoying, he knew that Otabek was right. He had to work.

This very flouncy affair was in honour of a jewellery. Not just any jewellery, but the kind that was called art and was expensive enough for the pharaohs to bury away in the pyramids along with them, they would be so determined to take such beauty into the afterlife with them. Valentino Rossi was known to create jewellery that was the epitome of glittering expense, and anyone who wore it would immediately know whose design it was. Rossi jewellery was the best. Rossi jewellery graced the necks of movie stars, perched atop the heads of royalty, and encrusted the fingers of the ostentatious and rich. Tonight was an exhibition of his newest range, unique pieces of which there would be no twins.

And tonight, the rich and avaricious were there to see, to bid, to desperately own.

Yuri’s job was simple. He had to steal a crown. A particular crown, made of a seed pearls and pink diamonds. Yuri hadn’t asked why or who and Otabek hadn’t volunteered the info but Yuri liked to imagine to was for some fat, hairy mobster who liked to dress up as a princess in the privacy of his pink coloured safe room.

He had to steal t, when no one was looking at it. Which meant finding the safe in which it was hidden, opening said safe, slipping the confection into a clever little pocket sewn inside his jacket, alongside a collection of lock picks, Taser, and slim little knives he hoped not to use, and vanishing again in under 7 and a half minutes.

It was simple. Just not easy.

Which didn’t mean he wasn’t up for it. He continued to gaze out the window and tried to think of how he could tie his hair up without it looking like he was just doing it because he had been told to. He couldn’t very well sneak around corners with his nearly waist length hair swishing about. Eventually he sighed to himself. Time to be professional. He took a small black hair tie out of his pocket and began the process of putting his hair into a tight French braid, which would keep his hair away from his face and stay put while he worked. He was halfway down the length when he saw Otabek looking at him from the corner of his eye, and felt an uncomfortable, not un-pleasant little jolt.

“What?” he muttered around the elastic in his teeth. “Want me to put a sparkly comb in it? To make me fit in better?”

Otabek did that slow blink at him. “no.” he turned away. “Until the right time, I would prefer you to remain civil.”

“Meaning?” Yuri asked as he tied the tail tight and flicked the long braid back over his shoulder.

“Meaning, can you manage an evening without cursing?”

Yuri slouched in the suit, knowing he was creasing the lines and not caring. “Why? It’s not like anyone cares I’m here.”

“It does matter, because you will be noticed.” Otabek replied, a hint of steel in his voice. “You are here with me, and that means eyes will be on me and thus you.”

Yuri’s internal dialogue stuttered a little. “I’m here as your…plus one?”

There was a strange, echoey sort of silence then as the two men’s eyes found each other again, both of them as unreadable as a blank wall.

Eventually Otabek replied. “No. but you are here as my guest.”

Yuri breathed out through his nose, looking away at anything, _anything_ other than Otabek Altin then. _Fuuuuuuuuck_. The words weren’t harsh or mocking, but contemplative and Yuri didn’t know how to feel about that at all. But his ambivalence was saved when Otabek spoke next.

“I already have a partner for this evening.”

It was said quietly, but as Otabek was exiting the car, the valet outside his door opening his door as soon as the car arrived at the entryway. Yuri was left with an empty mouth and a confused expression as the door on his side also opened similarly. He swallowed his immediate, irrational hurt and got out, schooling his face to be as cool as possible. He had never been very good at it.

He glanced over his shoulder at the man approaching the steps, holding his hand out to a woman who was waiting for him. She had dark olive skin, a red dress tighter than a sausage skin, and dark hair that cascaded glossily over one shoulder. And she smiled at Otabek Altin with a wide, lipsticked mouth like Otabek had said the funniest thing to date. Yuri hated her on sight.

But it didn’t matter, because he was here for a job. It was important to remember that.

Yuri had done these things before, though always as a subsidiary character, and always in places where everyone knew exactly who he was. Or rather who he belonged to and thus had a preconceived notion of his value without even opening his mouth. It was always in Viktor’s shadow, or on the end of Yaakov’s leash. In a way he still was, even if no one knew him here, knew his street name and knew his reputation except for Altin and whoever he had decided to tell. He knew how to behave. It didn’t stop the entire thing from being boring right up until the point where the lights were dimmed so that another suit could get up behind a podium and give a speech of some sort.

He slipped away from the table, on the premise of seeking out the bathroom. He wasn’t seated at the same table as Otabek, which made sense, but grated against him anyway, because the woman on his arm only became more flirtatiously lovely as the night wore on. It didn’t matter that Otabek seemed unaffected by her flapping eyelashes, the knowledge irritated like sand in his shoe. But Otabek caught his eye very briefly as he passed by and that was enough of acknowledgement. The look said “ _do your job_.”

Yuri knew the layout of the oversized house from having seen and memorised blueprints earlier in the day. He walked carefully, taking note of where the guards were and weren’t steering himself away from the exhibition hall itself was simple, because the safe he was looking for was in the far west side of the building, in a smaller basement room. Usually these things were in studies, or private rooms, but for whatever reason, this one was set into the bowels of the house. Even though he met no one on the way, he still trod lightly, because only an idiot would put all his security in the most obvious place.

The houses opulence was a constant theme as Yuri found his steps muted by the heavy Persian carpets lining every single hallway he walked down, and he was able to dash behind a wall silently when he finally did see another person. Unsure if it was a guest, occupant or security, he had to think quickly if he didn’t want to be found. He squeezed himself into the small alcove, cursing the tightness over his shoulders but recalling how Otabek had mentioned that his smaller size was specifically useful in this particular job. He shot a tight little curse in the privacy of his head towards anyone ever who thought his size made him useful, but stilled himself. To his relief, the person had walked past without noticing him, speaking on their phone as they went.

People thought that this kind of thing required extraordinary stealth. Actually what it required was the understanding that people just didn’t see what they didn’t expect to, and as long as Yuri was careful and quiet, most of the time he finished these things quickly and without fuss. People didn’t expect to robbed, not really.

The fact the Yaakov put him in situations where he was always noticed was either Yaakov being a pissy son of a bitch, or trying to teach Yuri how to fend for himself. Well, it had worked. Yuri had never broken a jaw before Yaakov asked him to push meth under bridges and in smelly, sticky bars in the early hours. He had certainly never had blood on his hands. Fairy he might be, but he wasn’t the sparkly kind. Oh no.

He shoved the thoughts away as he eased out of his hiding place and started again down the hall, more wary now. That was an unwritten rule; never stay in one hiding place for long, especially if you had almost been caught. Because it was a sign from the universe that you would not be so lucky again. Luck was a fantasy thing created by hopeful people.

The room he sought out was at the end of the horseshoe shaped hallway which was difficult because it meant he would be seen coming. He steeled himself for it and walked confidently forward. As expected, there was one man seated on a stool outside the door, typing away on his phone, but looking up with a cross expression when Yuri approached. The man wasn’t large, but taller than Yuri and thinner, his face the kind of face which had skin hanging off it, as if gravity pulled at it more than the rest.

“This corridor is off limits.” The man said firmly.

Yuri saw no point in lying at this point. “I’m not lost.”

The man’s heavy face creased. “What-“

Yuri made a small bounce on the back of his foot before executing a balletic flip and landing the heel of his expensive shoes right on top of the man’s head with a hard crack. He went down without a sound, and Yuri landed as soundlessly on the thick carpet. Really, there weren’t even cameras in this hall. Some people really lived in a happy little place of their own. Although, Otabek had assured him that even if he was recognised, it wouldn’t be an issue, for whatever reason he refused to elucidate.

The door however was locked, and Yuri had to spend a few precious seconds with lock picks before it swung open.

He paused.

Ah.

Well.

The little basement room was small yes, but it was most definitely secure. Yuri would say it was unnecessary but the very fact of his presence there made that a lie. He took a small canister out of an inside pocket and pressed the nozzle down, releasing a pale blue haze into the air. It caught on the invisible strings in the air, a hectic, chaotic network made by a drunken spider.

“What is this, a Bond film?” Yuri muttered to himself as he pocketed the canister again. He wanted to shuck the jacket but since most of his tools were hidden in the sleeves ad breast, he had to keep it. He made sure if was securely buttoned and tight against his body before slipping his shoes and socks off, and wrapping his braid around his neck and tucking the edge into the collar. Then he began the crab like steps and dance that would have made Catherine Zeta Jones envious. The crotch of the suit pants strained at one point as Yuri stepped crab like between two strings, but the superior tailoring kept them from ripping, for which Yuri was grateful. In spite of his time in the prison, his muscles remained supple and strong and his control was perfect as he navigated the web. But still, by the time he reaches the other side, a thin layer of sweat was on his neck and brow and he rolled his eyes at the thought of having to do it all again, only backwards.

At least the safe itself was simple. In spite of new technology and all the clever new mechanisms available, the fact was that when one does not truly expect to be the victim of crime, one does not really go all out. So it wasn’t a triple themed lock with funny little dials and timers such as seen in movies. Yuri opened the door after four minutes of nimble fingers and listening, and had the delicate little crown in his hands.

He spared a moment, to see how the filigreed thing caught what little light there was in the dim room and still managed to sparkle.

“This looks like a unicorn shat it out.” Yuri commented acerbically. He slid it into the velvet bag he’d been given for that purpose. After a moment’s contemplation, he also took a small brooch, in the likeness of a cat, made of brandy coloured diamonds and hissing at the observer, and pocketed that too. Then he shut the safe, locking it once more, and began his awkward dance back along the floor. As soon as he shut the door to the safe room, and stepped over the still prone body of the lackadaisical guard he sent a quick text to Otabek.

“done.” It said, and made his speedy way out of the hallway, and then out of the house, unwrapping his braid and tossing it once again over his shoulder. Once he had exited the building through the kitchen, and was walking down the long driveway out of the estate, he changed his mind ad unravelled his braid, shaking his fingers through it and feeling the thick silkiness of it.

He wondered if Otabek slid his fingers through that woman’s hair. Then swore at himself for thinking it.

Yuri had to wait for another hour I the shadows four streets away before Otabek’s car eventually came to retrieve him. He landed inelegantly into the back seat, ignoring the eyebrow Otabek sent his way as he did. Once they were moving again, he pulled out the velvet bag and handed it to the man without a word.

Otabek opened it and held the little crown up. It was barely big enough for a child’s head, in Yuri’s opinion, but still very pretty. “Was it difficult?”

Yuri shrugged. “No. honestly, I’ve seen worse security, but not much.”

Otabek slid the crown away again. “It’s true, Giles is somewhat naïve. Though he did try to interrogate me before I left.”

Yuri snorted. “Sorry, I had to leave a little mess.”

Recalling it, he fished the little cat pin out and observed it in the brighter streets lights as it filtered in and out of the car. It glittered at him, its little gold teeth sharp as pins, looking adorable and vicious at once.

Otabek sighed heavily. “Really?”

Yuri shrugged. “I was there anyway.” He replied and fixed it to the lapel of his jacket. Then he spread his hands and dared a smile. “Look good?”

Otabek’s mildly admonishing look melted away as he observed the brooch, the little cat settled on Yuri’s breast, then his eyes rested once more on Yuri. The look was heavy, not with accusation, and Yuri swallowed, dropping his smile and looking away.

“What happened to your date?” Yuri asked, randomly saying the first thing in his mind.

“She was disappointed that I left early.”

“I bet.”

Otabek was silent and Yuri risked a glance at him, surprised out of his skin when he saw Otabek’s miniscule little grin. The only one he had seen all night.

“Did you enjoy her company?” Yuri asked then, a little quieter.

Otabek glanced at him side long, still seemingly amused. “Why does it matter to you?”

Yuri tossed his head, pushing his hair behind his ear. “Seems a waste of an evening, for you at least, if you didn’t. Especially since she was practically in your lap for most of it.”

“hmm.” Otabek hummed. Yuri let the subject drop, since Otabek obviously wasn’t interested in carrying on with it and Yuri actually couldn’t grasp why he had brought it up at all. Actually, he could, but that was irritating too.

“Where are we going now?” he asked instead.

“Back to the plane, then I deliver you back to Yaakov.”

Yuri’s small measure of levity evaporated immediately at the thought of returning to Russia and Yaakov. But he nodded, keeping his silence. It was just a job. Hopefully Yaakov would be too lazy to put him back in prison.

“You want be going to back to the prison.” Otabek said, as if reading his thoughts.

Yuri only shrugged. “Alright.” It was a small, pointless relief. The reality was that his life, his actions, were all determined by other people. He was alone, a dog on a leash.

The lights of the highway flashed over Yuri’s face, illuminating it in flashes and he saw his reflection in the window. He tried not to. Because he looked miserable.

“Is that not a good thing?” asked Otabek and Yuri paused a moment to remember what he meant, then shrugged again.

“One type of prison in exchange for another.” He said in a low voice, then wished he hadn’t. Admitting aloud that he was less than happy in Yaakov’s care was dangerous. His body stiffened as he realised his mistake. If Altin repeated those words to Yaakov….they might be taken very badly.

“hmm.” Was all Altin said? “That is true enough.”

Yuri remained still the rest of the trip back, deciding that his tongue was a shitty traitor and as better caged in his mouth. Otabek, for his part, didn’t try to pry it open. His silence was a bubble around himself, and he behaved as if Yuri wasn’t there at all, his use now past.

After they landed, and Yuri spotted the off white care that he recognised as belonging to Dimitri just outside Otabek’s private hangar, he sighed minutely and took the cat off his lapel, handing it to Otabek. Then he lifted his bag containing his own clothes and turned away.

Or tried, Otabek was suddenly blocking out the light, holding the cat brooch and staring down at Yuri with grey eyes.

“And this? I thought you liked it.”

Yuri found his voice and replied. “I do. But Yaakov will never let me keep it. It was just for fun anyway.”

He didn’t say that he didn’t care where it went, as long as it didn’t end up in Yaakov’s hands. For some reason, that mattered. As sad as it made him, he had to acknowledge it; he belonged to Yaakov, and Otabek belonged to no-one but himself.

Otabek’s gloved hand closed around it slowly and he nodded. “Yuri…”

Yuri waited, face blank. Any kind of conflicting, glad, confusing or annoyed feelings had flown away as the plane had touched Russian soil. It had been a kind of holiday, but now he was back and this was his life.

“I will give you this one thing then, in exchange.” Otabek said quietly. Then he leaned close enough for Yuri to feel the warmth from his skin, the ghost of stubble on his cheeks.

“Viktor is alive.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments, it really helps me keep going.


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got long. Hitting rhythm people!

“Get the fuck off, Dimitri.”

“Come on, just try.”

“Do you not understand what ‘fuck off’ means?”

Yuri huffed, reminding himself why it would be a _bad_ idea to hit Dimitri, who was at least twice as tall and three times his weight. Even when the idiot was actually asking him to. He folded his arms and squared his feet, determined to look immovable even if Dimitri could, and had before, picked him up with one hand. Currently, his ugly face was grinning widely, and his breath smelled of stale beer. He held up a swaying finger.

“Just once. I promise I won’t hold it against you.” The oversized man tried to persuade but he was interrupted by a belch, which he unsuccessfully tried to cover behind a sausage fingered fist.

“You won’t even remember it tomorrow, you drunk idiot.” Yuri said. But he would most definitely remember it now, and no matter how jovial he currently appeared, Yuri knew that indulging in their stupid game would only end with him battered and bruised. The boys liked to play rough, and Yuri wasn’t in the mood.

It was Saturday evening and they were all at the bar, as usual. And Yuri had been brought/dragged along, as usual. He always had company, and if said company wanted to go drinking, then Yuri had go along. He very rarely joined in. The first time he had, definitely, and had forgotten his low tolerance for booze. Then a fight had broken out, and Yuri had come up with two broken fingers and bloody nose the next morning, with no one volunteering as to how this had come to be.

So, no, he didn’t join in. He preferred to work his way through a pack of cigarettes. So he added to the general haze of the shitty little bar while Dimitri, Valentin and Gregory worked their way through a few litres of cheap shitty beer, waiting for the night to be over.

Gregory nudged him hard. But Yuri kept his knees loose and wasn’t knocked over. “Come on, Fairy, just one punch. It will be satisfying yeah?”

“We just want to know if you’re faster than he is stupid.” Valentin, guffawed loudly with his overwide mouth. Yuri hated the colour of his gums; too pale, teeth too yellow.

“I can tell you that for free.” Yuri retorted. “I am and he is.”

They all laughed at his joke, as if he were the best amusement beer could buy, uncaring that Yuri remained a silent. Compared to them he was miniscule, and the way they insisted on crowding him into a corner of the room made him seem even smaller.

Gregory nudged him again. “Just try it.”

Yuri fixed him with a furious gaze. “If you don’t stop touching me with your fucking elbow, I’ll try it on you instead.”

They all laughed again, four or five beers too drunk to take anything he said seriously. He rolled his eyes and shuffled out of the corner.

“Where are you going?” Valentin called after him.

“To fucking piss. What, you want to watch me?” he called back over his shoulder and ignored their cajoling appeasements.

He hated it. All of it. Since prison, since Kazakhstan.

Since Otabek Altin, that mother fucking fucker.

Since he had found out Viktor was alive, and nothing more. How could the guy just lean over, whisper something so casually in his ear and walk away, knowing he could do nothing at all to find out more? Sadism, thy name is Altin.

Then again, there were many different kinds of sadism. There was the kind where you dangled a carrot in front of a person, like Otabek had. The there was another kind, that Yaakov preferred, where a person would put a frog in a pot of water on a stove, turn it on, and watch with a ghastly grin as the frog swam desperately, being cooked alive. And then there was another kind, where one could keep reminding themselves of the way a certain other person looked in a suit.

Yuri reflected that this was probably a train of thought to be saved for when he wasn’t holding his dick, pissing into a toilet bowl without a seat.

He washed his hands and pushed out of the smelly toilet only to be abruptly stopped. In front of him, barely taller than he was stood Yaakov, looking sternly disapproving. But that was just his face.

“Boss.” Yuri greeted, unsure what Yaakov was doing there and instantly wary. He turned his head to blow smoke away.

“Yuri.” Yaakov spoke, and his face folded into a smile. It was the kind of smile you saw on a dying person, though Yaakov thought it made him look charming. “I am glad to see you.”

“You are?” Yuri asked, even though this was fairly average banter. Yaakov had his own reason for being happy to see him, and Yuri preferred not to turn his vague suspicions into realities. There was the not so vague intimation from Yaakov that the only reason he wasn’t dead, or left for dead, was because Yuri remained an obedient lapdog.

“Indeed!” Yaakov said around his smile, and clapping Yuri on the shoulder and squeezing. “You did a very good job last week with the AM-4.”

“Selling drugs isn’t exactly difficult.” Yuri murmured as Yaakov steered him back towards the bar central. No, the difficult part was keeping the lechers hands off him. Yaakov said he liked it when Yuri left them bloody and twitching, because by association it made sure that Yaakov had good street cred.

“No, but you do it with such grace, little one. You make people believe the drugs are fairy dust.” Yaakov chuckled at his own joke, even though Yuri was now officially taller than him, and Yuri tried for a brief anaemic smile before pulling on his stick again. “You do all your jobs so well.”

Yuri noticed then that they weren’t headed back to his group but towards the door. It took a lot of self-control for Yuri not to halt his steps forward, and continue to let Yaakov guide him. “I try.”

“Your grandfather would be so proud of you. Such a good work ethic.” Yaakov rambled in his ear.

They were at the door now, and Yuri wondered where all this was leading. When they were just outside, and the chill air biting through Yuri shirt as he had left his coat inside, Yaakov stopped them. Yuri had a niggling sense of unease in his belly, which wasn’t unusual when he was around Yaakov. He doubted the man had really cared for his grandfather at all, for all that he claimed to have taken Yuri under his wing when he’d died. He’d simply ended up being foisted on Viktor, which hadn’t worked out very well at all.

 And now Yaakov was making appoint of telling him what a good boy he was, his squeezing hand unmoving and casually threatening. Yuri forced himself to breathe normally, and dragged again, ignoring the chill and how badly his body wanted to betray his resolve and shiver. Rheumatic eyes bored into his from a distance that had nothing to do with height and everything to do with Yuri’s awareness that he was bottom rung, and Yaakov insistence on making sure he knew it every moment, every day.

“You are loyal, aren’t you, Yuri?” Yaakov asked him, the side of his mouth still trying to maintain the grin, and losing the battle against Yaakov’s naturally stern face.

Yuri blinked. “What kind of question is that?”

Squeeze. “A question that must be answered.”

Yuri scowled. “Of course I am. You know I am.”

“Then why,” Yaakov’s breathe was hot smoke in the cold air. “Is Otabek Altin asking for your help yet again?”

Yuri couldn’t hide his surprise. “…Altin? He what?”

Yaakov paused for a moment then laughed, a high crystalline thing that didn’t suit him, and rang false. “Yes! Today, he contacted me, saying he needed someone with ‘nimble fingers’ yet again.”

Yuri stared at Yaakov face, knowing he was being watched closely and shrugged. “Ok. So?”

“So?” Yaakov said, eyebrows rising slightly. “Do you want to go?”

Yuri crushed his cigarette and flicked it away negligently into the street. “What, like it’s a holiday? Fuck, I don’t care. You decide if I go or stay. Whatever you want, boss.”

Yaakov’s face broke into a wide grin again, seemingly genuine but still sickly looking. “Ah my boy, my little orphan fairy. You are wonderful you know? I treasure you.”

Yuri nodded but said nothing, looking at the dirty slush that had accumulated on the ground. The snow fall was indecisive and on city roads like this, it became disgusting; all cold and grey and wet. He hunched his shoulders against the world.

“Boss, I need my jacket, unless we’re going back inside.” It wasn’t asking permission, and yet, it was.

But Yaakov shook his head, taking his shoulder again, and draping it as if they were buddies, leading them down the street. “No, no, we are not. Well, you are not.”

“Boss?”

The cold was becoming an ever present thing now, and he genuinely hoped Yaakov wasn’t out to test his endurance or some fucked up idea like that. But as they turned the corner, a familiar black car stood, engine on and waiting.

“He is a bit strange, that Altin.” Yaakov said to Yuri. “He buys the same car in every country.”

 

-8-

 

When Yuri sat down across from Otabek in the private jet, he waited until Otabek’s half lidded eyes met his and then spread his hands in a wordless ‘ _what-the-fuck’_ gesture. Otabek was unmoved. Instead his eyes fell to Yuri’s shirt.

“Leopard spots?” he asked.

Yuri glanced down at his shirt, then back. “Are you fucking kidding me? You show up asking for my ‘nimble fingers’ after two months and you care about my dress sense?”

“ _You_ should care about your dress sense.” Otabek replied, carefully folding the newspaper he had been reading and turning to fasten his seat belt, the high pitched whine of the engine starting filtering through the walls. “Why all the animal print?”

Yuri stared at the man, uncertain, ruffled and above all, feeling cheap.

Firstly, Yaakov had given him over without another word or explanation but a cheerful look on his ugly face, which only showed Yuri that he had intended the entire time to do so, leaving Yuri feeling once again, like little more than a whore. If someone offered to pay for sex with him, would Yaakov do the same?

Secondly, Otabek Altin.

Thirdly, _Otabek Altin_ again, after two months. And looking just as _good_.

Yuri had, unfortunately be unable to stop thinking about the way the collar of a suit cut just under the short hair on the back of his neck, or the olive toned skin of his hands. And that was problematic. Everything was problematic, because for some reason Otabek had become to spoon stirring the pot of ever present dissent that Yuri barely kept under control.

“Buckle up.” Otabek said and jolted Yuri back to the moment. He did so, with bad grace, and it wasn’t until they were well in the air that Yuri found his calm and spoke again.

“What’s the job?”

Otabek handed him a small folder. “Another safe, but this time; documents. Also, more security.”

“Well, great, since last time was so very boring.” Yuri replied, and could have sworn he saw Otabek maybe grin. Like a Mona Lisa smile, you were forever wondering if you had actually seen it.

“I am glad I could satisfy your lust for violence. You will find all you need to know in there, once you’ve gone through it we can discuss further.”

Yuri nodded, feeling suddenly tired. He let the folder rest in his lap. “Or you could just tell me.”

“Or you could just read it.”

“It’s not like you’re paying me.”

Otabek didn’t reply to that but reached into the pocket of his slacks and then held out his hand to Yuri. In his palm, a glittering catling brooch. Yuri felt his mouth drop open.

“No way.” He said, taking it and unable to stop a smile. He immediately went to pin it to his shirt.

“Of course, you would combine something so fine with something so tasteless.” Otabek opined blandly.

“Fuck you, my shirts are great.” Yuri responded without missing a beat. He was happy though, for the simple gesture. Otabek had kept the pin. And had given it back. And that was…well.

“Leopards might accuse you of plagiarism, if the colours were at least true. Orange and black belong to tigers.”

“I couldn’t get the tiger one in my size.” Yuri muttered, still trying to fix the brooch to the fabric. Something about the catch wasn’t making sense, and suddenly two olive coloured hands came into his line of sight.

“Ugh, polyester.” Otabek complained quietly as he worked the pin, fastening it quickly, then pressing it down. Yuri hands had dropped as he watched Otabek’s face, and he swallowed.

“Um, thank you.” He said. “And no, don’t worry about my personal space.”

Again, the Mona Lisa smile. “Fine, I won’t.”

Once again, Yuri found himself in the sort of twilight zone that came with being with Otabek Altin. There was freedom from Yaakov, a brief respite at least, and there was the added comfort of the habitual luxury Otabek clearly preferred when travelling. And then there was…something else. And ease. Not a lack of desire, definitely not….but a lack of needing to pretend.

Well, at least in some ways. He still had secrets.

But Otabek was easy company. And that made him uneasy because it was for all the wrong reasons. He cleared his throat.

“I need a-“

“You can’t smoke here.” Otabek interrupted making Yuri glower.

“Fine. At least give me a drink.”

“One.” Otabek told him, holding up a finger. “When we touch down we’re going straight to the tailor.”

“I get another suit?” Yuri asked, perking up. Yaakov had taken the last one, without explanation and Yuri hadn’t bothered defying him.

“Well, a suit of sorts.”

 

-8-

 

Yuri opened his mouth. Then shut it. Then opened it again, and shut it with a huff.

It _was_ a suit. He liked it, but didn’t want to admit it. As he turned in the mirror of the change room in the very same tailor they had been to the time before, he couldn’t help but admire the way the ebony coloured fabric made him look like a shadow, a black hole in the shape of Yuri Plisetsky. The only thing was…

The thing was, was that it was basically a full body leotard, snug to the point of being inappropriate for children if the very darkness of it and thickness of the material didn’t subtly hide any incriminating details. From his feet to his neck, was all solid black. His face and head stood out like a beacon until he pulled the head mask over and tucked his hair away, then he was a shadow again. All but the eye holes, where two green eyes slanted out.

“I suppose it matters this time, if people see me.” He said aloud, still observing himself. His breath didn’t gather and cloud inside the mask, which was a relief.

“You suppose correctly.” Otabek replied from just outside the door. Yuri imagined him seated in the shiny leather chair set into the atrium of the changing room. “This time, you will have to be discrete.”

“I was discrete last time.”

“Like a sledge hammer is discrete.”

Yuri smirked and plucked at the fabric. “If I’m such a trouble why bother renting me from Yaakov again?”

Silence greeted those words and Yuri thought nothing about it while he folded back the cuffs, fingering the cleverly sewn pockets that could fit pens or knives, though Yuri knew which he was more likely to need. There were similar ones near his ankle and thighs, all snugly designed to sheath several types and size of blade. At least his reputation was known, but he frowned.

“Unless Yaakov sent my knives along with me-“

He was cut off when the door to the room opened, flooding it with the brighter light from outside. He was about to say something about privacy when the look on Otabek’s face stopped him. On the surface he looked as he always did; stoic, unreadable. But there was something in the lift of his eyebrow, the stiffness of his neck that reminded Yuri of predator, growling.

“I would prefer it,” Otabek said in a low, quiet voice, “if you did not speak of this arrangement that way.”

Yuri frowned at him. “What do you mean? That you’re renting me?” he barked a humourless laugh. “That’s exactly what’s happening though.”

Otabek scowl was enough to make him glance away but not to shut him up. He continued to preen in front of the mirror. “You call Yaakov, offer to hire me out for whatever crime you need doing. Yaakov seems happy enough to do it, as long as he gets paid and I get delivered back to his side.”

 He glanced at Otabek’s eyes briefly in the reflection and shrugged. “What, you thought he paid me? He didn’t even let me keep the suit. Why do you think I gave you the cat?”

He ignored Otabek’s rough presence until the man left of his own accord, and Yuri breathed out a sigh of relief. It was actually dangerous, to speak like this in front of anyone, but he was good at reading people even if he wasn’t good at getting along with them, and he a feeling Otabek liked Yaakov even less than he did, which was saying something. Still, it didn’t mean they were allowed to bond over it. He removed the body suit quickly, foiling it into a surprisingly small, heavy bundle and laying it on the bench in the changing room, before putting his own clothes back on.

He made sure the brooch was visible, glittering and snarling.

Why did Otabek care anyway? Was he not getting his money’s worth? Or maybe he just preferred not knowing the details of his hired help.

“As I was saying, I’m sure Yaakov included my knives along with a change of clothing. And by that I mean he definitely didn’t.” Yuri went on as he opened the door. “So you’ll have to foot the bill for whatever things you’re gonna need me to carry.”

Otabek was gazing away at nothing, legs folded and face inscrutable once more. “Hmm. I suppose we’ll have to go shopping.”

Yuri squinched an eyebrow at the man. “Hmm, or you could just drop me off with some cash and I’ll get what I need. It’s not like I’m going to run away.”

“Even if you did, I would find you.” Otabek replied casually, as if his Big Brother level of information were nothing impressive. “And besides, were in a city you’ve never visited how would you go about finding what you require?”

Yuri fluffed his hair out, since it had been flattened when he put the mark on, then promptly hiked up his hoodie to cover it. “I’m resourceful. Give me two hours, money, and drop me at a mall and I’ll get everything.”

Otabek’s eyebrow raised slightly. “Even the blades?”

“I’ll get those first.” Yuri replied with a half-smile. “I’m all alone in a strange city, I need to protect myself after all.”

Otabek sighed, and dug into his jacket pocket before taking out a credit card. “Very well. You have two hours. Don’t bother with the poisons, I will provide you with those.”

“Of course you will.” Yuri took the card, feeling a completely alien emotion unfolding in his chest. It felt cold, and fresh and dangerous.

It was freedom.

As he stared at the back card with its silver embossed numbers, the hologram of a bird blinking back at him, he reflected on the looming fact that he had never owned such a thing. He didn’t have a bank account, he didn’t even have a wallet. He was only ever given the amount of money that would fit into the back pocket of his jeans, enough to buy him cigarettes and booze and food if he wanted it. Everything else he had, was given to him, and given with the unsaid fact that very much did not own it. A dog didn’t own its collar.

He was twenty three and he had nothing.

Except for the knives Viktor had given him, his first and only set, as a reward for accomplishing a ten knife juggling trick. And even those, he kept hidden like incriminating things, from Yaakov.

“I’ll pick you up in two hours. Try not to overspend.” Otabek told him as he brushed by, almost, but not quiet touching.

-8-

Otabek had been right. This one was not so easy. This time, Yuri could tell he was dealing with a person who understood the value of what they had, understood that others coveted it and took steps towards the preventing people like Otabek from doing exactly what Yuri was doing, which was to break in and steal it.

Yuri got the job done of course. But this time, with a lot more blood. He hoped Otabek wouldn’t mind the red stain along the right hedge of the folder he had slotted inside his body suit, but since he was still bleeding quite a lot from his collar bone, it could hardly be avoided. He smeared his hands down his thighs, wiping blood that was not his on it and quickly beat a path back to the meeting point they’d agreed on beforehand. The sweat was coating his back and sides, his breath came heavy, and he muffled his curses at the smarting pain on his shoulder and ribs. Probably a broken one, maybe two.

Fuck, those guys were big. And he had left at least three of his knives buried in their bodies. Otabek better not make some snarky comment about a refund.

Yuri spotted the sleek black vehicle parked just behind a large tree on the corner and didn’t bother waiting for an invitation. After wrenching the door open, he all but collapsed inside, still panting for breathing, and gritting his teeth.

“Did you get it?” Otabek asked.

“I got it.” Yuri nodded.

“Drive.”

The car sped away, allowing Yuri an ever so small measure of relief that at least that part of the evening was done. But still, he reported essentials. “There were four guys, not three. Thanks for that. All built like walls.” He grunted in pain as he pulled the top off the body suit, pressing the balled up fabric to the gushing wound, and then rolled down the high waist of the pants, revealing an already blossoming bruise. He’d always bruised so easily, like a plum.

“Fuck.” He complained regretfully.

“Broken?” Otabek asked.

Yuri nodded. “Probably. At least one.”

“Well, we can ask Ruslan to help you as well then.” Otabek sighed. Yuri glanced up, looking at him properly for the first time since falling into the car.

“Who is Ruslan?”

“A discrete doctor in my employ.”

Then Yuri noticed the way Otabek’s arms was hugged tightly around his middle, and replayed Otabek’s words in his head.

“What the fuck.” Yuri breathed, forgetting his shoulder and leaning forward, grabbing Otabek’s arm. His impassive face flinched. “You’re shitting me. You were playing a poker game.”

“It went sour.” Otabek informed him, and Yuri only then heard the faint, muted strain in his voice. He pulled on Otabek’s stubborn arm again.

“Show me.” He demanded.

The older man frowned at him, as if he were a minor annoyance, as usual. “Why? We are on the way to my physician, and you are no doctor.”

Yuri curled his fingers into Otabek’s sleeve heard, and stared at him intensely. “No, but I am willing to bet anything you’ve never been in a knife fight, while I on the other hand, have plenty more experience in that area. Let me see.”

Otabek relented after a moment, his face clenching slightly in pain as he let Yuri removed his arm. Slowly it came away, looking like a cheap horror movie. The inside of Otabek’s coat sleeve was soaked dark, while the fabric of the coat itself was slashed and hanging away, revealing the wide bloom of blood over the dress shirt he wore beneath.

“Holy fuuuuck.” Yuri swore, moving Otabek’s arm away completely and shifting as close as he could. He began lifting the shirt, ignoring Otabek grunt, which could have been protest or surprise. Either way, it never turned into words and Yuri manged to carefully lift the sodden fabric away.

“For fuck’s sake.” He breathed. “What a mess. Is this a slash or stab?”

“Both, I think.” Otabek reply was huffed, and Yuri could see his chest rising and falling in short, pain filled breathes.

“You think?”

“It’s a bit…blurred.”

Yuri glanced up at Otabek, the skin around his eyes were wrinkled as he endured, and there was a thin shen of sweat on the skin just over his eyebrows.

“How long will it take us to get to Ruskin?”

“Ruslan. About ten minutes.”

“Good. All you have to so is remain conscious until then.”

Otabek blinked at him, but his eyelids looked like they were made of glue and struggled to open again. “That might be a problem.”

Yuri carefully put the rolled fabric he had been using for himself against the man’s eviscerated belly, staunching the sluggish blood flow. Small mercies, he didn’t think Otabek would bleed out at least.

“Well, you’re gonna have to put on your big girl panties and do it, because if you pass out, you might not wake up. And I don’t know these people. They might think I’m the one that did this.”

“So I should stay conscious so I can be your alibi.”

“It’s a reason to live.”

Otabek may have smiled, small and strained then. “I still think you’ll have to help.”

Yuri nodded, squelching his panic, pushing it down down and forcing himself not think about the fact that they were both bleeding and Otabek the pansy might die. “Fine, tell me how a completely boring poker game turn into a stabbing match.” He said. “Actually, wait, tell me how you managed to get stabbed _and_ slashed.”

“My attackers were enthusiastic.” The older man replied, closing his eyes as he spoke. “I did manage to return the favour though.”

Yuri smacked his cheek lightly. “No sleeping. Tell me what happened. Do I need to worry about someone following us?”

Otabek forced his eyes open but his head remained lolling against the back of the seat. “Maybe. We can’t stay long with Ruslan.”

“I’ll make Ruslan come with us then. I’m sure he would love to stich you up as we fly over the Atlantic.”

Otabek lifted his eyebrows in small response. “I’m sure he would. Though his wife might object.”

“Tough shit.”

Otabek took a hard, shallow breath. “I think they were tipped off, not sure by who. I will find out. But halfway through the game it became clear that they knew what I was up to and hadn’t intended on me leaving.”

“So they knew about me?” Yuri asked.

“Not you specifically, but they told me the only reason for my presence there was if I had been hired to steal back those documents.” Otabek’s eyes darted to the folder, tossed aside so casually. Yuri glanced at it guiltily.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, it got bloody.”

“Appropriate.”

Yuri chuckled humourlessly. “Your sense of humour needs work.”

“Or yours needs enlightenment.”

“Fuck you, I’m hilarious.”

Somehow, even though his sluggish grip on consciousness, and jaw clenching around pain, Otabek Altin managed to give him a sardonically disbelieving look.

“Do you even _know_ any jokes?”

“Yes!” Yuri retorted, minorly indignant, but mostly giddy with suppressed adrenaline and fear. “Have you heard the one about the girl who dragged her pet dead frog around?”

Otabek’s expression was flat. “Excuse me?”

Yuri kept him awake, with bad jokes and terrible punchlines that Otabek pointed out weren’t funny, while Yuri argued that his sense of humour was just impotent due to almost being dead. And when they arrived at the small, cosy looking suburb, and the man Ruslan had come out to meet them, Yuri had told Otabek to hold the cloth against his belly so his insides wouldn’t fall out.

He sent the driver back out again, telling him to drive away and park elsewhere, just in case they were being followed or sought out, telling him that he would call when he thought it was safe.

While he waited in a clean, domestic looking kitchen, he focussed on breathing. Just breathing.

 

Just breathing.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make my day :) Thank you guys.


	6. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologize for any inconsistencies in the story as it goes on.   
> This is WHY:
> 
> When I start these things, I literally have no idea where I'm going with them, other than I want the love story and happy ending. 
> 
> Fell free to point anything out that doesn't make sense. Find me at my Tumblr if ya like.

Yuri knew how to say ‘fuck off’. Or the equivalent thereof, in about ten or eleven different languages, if you allowed for the variation of dialects. Including Kasack. It probably wouldn’t go over well if he said it to a seven year old though.

“She wants to brush your hair.” Gregor told him in his heavy accented English, as they stood outside on the stoop sharing the space while they smoke. Up until yesterday, Yuri had only known him by the back of his shaved head, but since he had helped Yuri heave Otabek’s surprisingly solid body over the threshold of Ruslan’s home, they had been introduced. He was taller than Otabek, but had a calm face, washed out blue eyes and a smile that always looked uncertain, as if he was permanently trying to figure out a joke.

“I got that.” Yuri replied, while glaring at the little girl, who was standing in front of him with a hopeful expression and a hair brush. It still had _hair_ in it. “That filthy thing is not touching my hair.”

He glanced at Gregor and amended. “I mean the brush not the girl. How do I say, ‘leave me alone’?”

Instead, Gregor spoke on his behalf on his exhale, his guttural sounding words punctuated by smoke. Kasack wasn’t terribly different from Russian, but Yuri had never had a knack for languages and didn’t bother with much that didn’t come easily to him. But whatever was said did the trick, because the small child scampered off, her feet making heavy hollow thuds on the wooden flooring.

“Thanks.” Yuri said without looking at the man.

Ruslan had told them that it would a minimum of two days before Otabek would be able to move safely. Two days of laying low in his house. Yuri privately marvelled at that; that he would so quickly and lightly offer up his home, where his family lived, to hide them. It didn’t seem like something Otabek had to pay for, but something offered. It was dangerous, but Ruslan waved away Yuri’s clumsy attempts to explain that they needed to move, to leave, just in case. Otabek, for his part, had been passed out for at least twelve hours at this point and was as useful as vase of flowers in getting Ruslan to change his mind.

So Yuri had his shoulder stitched and bandaged with little theatrics, it wasn’t his first or even his seventh open wound, and he had a high pain threshold, so it took no time at all. Altin however…

On a normal day, if Yuri were anywhere else with anyone else, he would have made several comments on what a lightweight Otabek was. One knife and he was down. For two fucking days. But all he could do was suck hard at the tobacco and glower at the world. He stubbed the cigarette out on his shoe and went inside to toss the butt before going back to where Altin had been given a bed. It was probably a guest room, judging by the untouched, impersonal nature of the décor. Yuri settled himself into the chair beside the bed and rested his heels up on the end, folding his arms side the oversized, woollen jumper Ruslan had lent to him.

Otabek was not a beautiful man when he slept. This wasn’t that kind of movie, Yuri reflected.

Blood loss had left his skin ashy and pale, the darkness of his hair making it worse. And when he turned his head onto the pillow, he drooled, just a little. Enough to look totally ridiculous.

Yuri couldn’t stop cataloguing how ridiculous he looked. Yes. Not handsome at all. Just…he wasn’t.

But what Yuri couldn’t ignore was the way Otabek’s weakness hook him deeply. Otabek Altin had always been a kind of lofty ideal, even before Yuri had directly interacted with him. Then he was more so, a fixed point, as immovable as a mountain in the face of storm. But Yuri sat at his bed side like he was a dying thing, just as human as anyone else, and that was the equivalent of being on the roof of a very tall building during an earthquake. It made everything…more so. All his thoughts, all his feelings about and surrounding Otabek’s presence in the world were akin to forces of nature that Yuri couldn’t control, leaving him feeling constantly weary and tense.

And now he would add ‘worried’ to that list. Fuck yeah, his life was peachy.

Yuri feel asleep. He only knew it because the bed he had rested his head on was moving and trying to shove his head out of the way.

“Ouch.” He grumbled pointedly, grumpy at being woken up from the first sleep he’d managed in the last 14 hours. He sat up and pushed his hair away from his face, only to find it tied in a horribly messy braid. It took a second for him to realise, then he sore.

“That little criminal…” he trailed off seeing the reason he had been awoken. Otabek watched him with blurry eyes.

He hadn’t realised just how alive Otabek was. Sleep robbed him of his vitality, but now, even blinking at him through sleepy eyes, with deep shadows around them, he was alive. His aliveness burned up the room.

Yuri blinked at brought himself back to reality, yanking the band from the bottom of the braid and starting to undo the mess. “He lives. Welcome back.”

Otabek’s expression was questioning. “Yuri?”

“Who else?”

But when Otabek’s expression didn’t change or flatten into his usual confidence, Yuri faltered. “Otabek? You know where you are right?”

The other man’s hand spread out on the comforter that wrapped him, a single, careful movement, like he was grounding himself. “Remind me…..please.”

Yuri swallowed. “We were on a job last night. We were made, and you got attacked. We’re are Ruslan’s house now, and you’re in his guest bed.” He said, deliberately and clearly.

Otabek nodded minutely. “Safe?”

Yuri nodded. “Safe. Gregor said he got in contact with...I don’t know, another one of your people, and we weren’t followed.”

Otabek nodded again, but other than that he barely moved.

“Are you… does it hurt?” Yuri asked quietly, staring at the spread fingered hand on the bed then again the man it belonged to.

Otabek swallowed once more. “Yes. I’m thirsty.”

Yuri immediately stood up. “I’ll get Ruslan. Just a moment...”

“Yuri.” Came the breathless call. Yuri turned back, to see Otabek watching him, looking more present than he had so far.

“Where is the cat?”

Yuri was non plussed. “The cat?” What cat?  Why were they talking about cats?

“Yes. The brooch.”

Then Yuri clicked. “Are you serious? It’s in the car, with my stuff. Who cares?”

Otabek’s intensity was unwavering. “Don’t lose it.”

“Otabek,” Yuri huffed an awkward, desperate sort of laugh. The man was dual, both alive and dying, ashen and smoulder. “Who cares? It’s just a piece of jewellery.”

“No.” Otabek sighed. “It’s yours.”

Yuri nodded his head slowly, thinking Otabek was still out of it and that he needed to get Ruslan sooner rather than later. “Ok. I’ll get it after I get Ruslan to check on you.”

Otabek seemed to settle back into the bed. “Alright. Just get it.”

“I will.” Yuri said as he turned away again.

“It’s important,” Otabek’s voice floated out to follow him, “that you have something that’s yours.”

Yuri’s feet stuttered, but caught their rhythm once more as he left the room.

 

-8-

Yuri found a few hours rest on the living room couch, after dreaming fitfully or cats and blood and of things gone wrong. When he woke up, hauling himself upright his hair tweaked at his scalp and he found that once again, a mysterious little creature had tried to braid his hair while he slept. This time there were three of them, and included sparkly flowers.

Yuri growled, annoyed and grumpy. The braids were basically tangle and he had to work carefully to get them undone without breaking the hair. Even so, when he could finally run a hand freely through it, quite a few long blond strands came loose.

When they sat around the small table for dinner, he glared at the little girl sitting across from him, who pretended as if his ire was completely unnoticed. Ruslan did however notice, and quirked an eyebrow over a bowl of buttered peas.

“Are you angry with Malta, Yuri?” Ruslan asked, his question laced with threat.

Yuri was unabashed and pointed directly at her. Since his entire experience of children ended with having been one once, he didn’t care what age a person was, if they were being a shit, they were being a shit. “Yes. Every time I fall asleep, she tries to braid my hair.”

Both Ruslan and his wife exchanged surprised looks, while Gregor beside him snickered and reached for the chicken.

“She knows I don’t like it, so she is being sneaky about it, and I’m tired of waking up with tangles.”

Ruslan spoke in rapid language to his daughter, who very definitely knew the topic of conversation even if she didn’t understand English. She stubbornly avoided her father’s gaze, but mumbled an answer to his question while pushing food around her plate. Some more stern words were exchanged from both parents, and then Malta pushed her chair out, eyes bright and face contorted, and walked out of the room. Ruslan turned back to Yuri.

“I apologise. I didn’t know, or I would have spoken to her sooner.” He told Yuri openly.

“She says she did not know how to pull hair correctly.” Ruslan’s wife added, her English a little more broken. Yuri shrugged.

“Where did she go?”

“I sent her to her room as punishment for being rude to a guest.” Ruslan replied and Yuri flinched internally.

“Won’t she be hungry?” he asked, eyes flicking to the passageway Malta had vanished down. But Ruslan shook his head mildly.

“I will take her her food later. Don’t worry.”

Yuri chewed at his food distractedly, feeling unexpectedly guilty, and aware of Gregor strange little smirk beside him. Ruslan spoke into the void.

“Mr Altin is not doing as well as I expected. You might have to stay another day.” He informed both Yuri and Gregor.

Yuri frowned. “He can’t rest on the plane?”

Ruslan half smiled, kindly. “Are you too eager to leave?”

Yuri pushed aside the thought that Yaakov would be fuming at the fact that Yuri had yet to check in with him to let him know about the delay. “It’s dangerous for us to stay here. Dangerous for us and your family.”

Nod nod. “Yes I understand that. But it cannot be helped you see. It would be best for all of you, if he stayed here for the extra day and was stronger for it. For my part, I do not believe that we are in danger.”

“There are men looking for us.” Yuri told him, even though it wasn’t a confirmed suspicion.

Ruslan nodded some more. “This is not the first time I have cared for someone in Mr Altin’s employ, although it’s the first time he himself has needed such care. I am touched by your worry, but as they say, this is not my first time.”

Yuri took that to mean he had his own security measures in place. It left Yuri feeling uneasy but he wouldn’t be moved on the topic, and Yuri let it drop. One day would have to be ok.

Afterwards, he risked going into the Otabek’s room again, to find him looking better than before he was propped up on cushions and still pale, but his eyes were open and clear, making Yuri breathe a sigh of relief.

“Feeling better?” he asked quietly as he stepped inside and took his usual place. Otabek turned his head from the window towards him, his eyes alert.

“Better than dead will have to do.” He replied, voice an echo of his usual firmness.

“Yes well, I would prefer it if you didn’t die. I still need a ride home.”

“Your opinion is noted.”

Yuri made himself more comfortable by resting his heels on the end of the bed, enjoying the way Otabek’s eyes followed them and how he let brief annoyance flicker across his face. The fact that Otabek was himself enough to already feel exasperated felt like a good sign.

“SO, I hear this is your first time being an invalid.” Yuri quipped, feeling more and more buoyant. Otabek was alive, and would continue to be. That was…it was a good thing. Yuri didn’t often feel happy about things, but he was happy about his.

“More or less.” Otabek replied vaguely. “Gregor mentioned you had spoken to him about the perimeter? And repercussions?”

“Yes, and he insists we’re all good. Along with Ruslan, so between those two, they won’t let you leave before Friday.” Yuri opined. “Which is just great for me, since all I have to entertain me are these four walls and a little blonde criminal who insists on mangling my hair.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ruslan’s daughter.” Yuri explained. “She waits until I’m asleep then tries doing things to my hair. It’s pissing me off.”

Otabek’s blank stare was a little discomforting then he did something that completely put Yuri off his stride; he smiled. Not the maybe/maybe-not smile like usual, but absolutely accredited turning up of the lips.

“Well, fuck me,” Yuri chuckled a little breathlessly. “I didn’t know you could smile.”

“It must be your charming bed side manner.” Otabek replied. “I honestly thought I had misheard you, because of the side effect of pain pills.”

“I wish I could say you had.”

They shared an odd little moment, where they were both smiling at each other, and in the future when Yuri looked back on it, he would reflect how completely bizarre and indicative that moment was. In the present though, his smile wavered and he covered it with a cough. Since his eyes were looking anywhere but at the face in front of him, he saw Otabek’s arm. “What the fuck?”

The inside stretch of his forearm, where the skin was soft and delicate, was a giant red welt, as if he had been burned. He reached forward but stopped the moment Otabek moved to pull his sleeve over it. “Don’t worry, its nothing.”

“That’s a damn lie.” Yuri shot back. “That looks like a burn. Did Ruslan not see this? I’m going to get him-“

“Yuri, no. Just…sit.”

Yuri stalled his rage momentarily for Otabek’s sake, but crossed his arms and waited for an explanation. Otabek had made his face calm again, and was holding one hand over the place where the mark lay. Eventually, Yuri non-existent patience snapped and he spat out.

“Well?”

Otabek shook his head lightly. “It’s not a burn.”

Yuri gave an exasperated sigh. “So what is it?”

“It’s none of your concern.”

And just like that, the invisible shield between them was in place. Whatever small measure of companionability they had achieved vanished, and Yuri knew once again, absolutely, that he was just for rent, that his value here for this man, lay in his ‘nimble fingers’.

He suddenly badly needed a cigarette. “Right. I’m sorry for caring. See ya.”

But Otabek’s vice cut across his escape. “Yuri, I need to speak to you.”

“Can it wait? I need a smoke and I can’t light up in the house.” Yuri said over his shoulder, deadpanning at the man in the bed.

“No, it can’t.”

Yuri made his overburdened sigh loud and obvious, but turned back anyway, spun he chair around and straddled it, before fixing Otabek with his best ‘obedient and waiting’ look. Otabek blinked at him, mouth open at his actions.

“Please, speak on.” Yuri drawled.

Otabek’s frown returned. “Its…something I need from you.”

Yuri nodded. “Just put it on the bill, and I’ll do my very best, Altin.”

Otabek refused to meet his eyes as he cleared his throat. “I will be sending Gregor out with some errands to run for me in light of what happened the other night. I cannot simply let it lie. But,” he sighed, looking pained and suddenly tired. His arm came over the hidden welt again. “Which means…I will rely on you to remain here. With me.”

The fabric of the chair back under Yuri’s hands was suddenly rough and explicit. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Otabek went on, “that as much as I trust Ruslan, I would prefer not to be alone. Here, in this house. While I’m an invalid, as you so eloquently called me.”

The man in the bed was staring hard at the opposite wall, as if had some vital information for him, though his words were only for Yuri.

“Uh…”

“You may call me a coward if you wish.” Otabek went on quietly, as if it didn’t matter. “But I will pay you extra for this service.”

The almost cough Yuri didn’t quite mange to cover completely disrupted his veneer of dispassionate cool. “You want me to be your bodyguard?”

Otabek’s hand hovered uncertainly over the covered arm. “A guard, yes. While I am laid up here.”

A half-hearted chuckle escaped Yuri mouth. “That’s…ok sure, fine. But you know that my expertise lies in hurting people, not stopping them from being hurt?”

Otabek did meet his eyes then, once again intensely fixed on him. “That is completely untrue, as is clear by recent events. Or any of our interactions so far.”

Yuri tugged on a lock of hair, winding around his finger. “If you say so. It’s fine, just add it to the bill. At least it will explain to Yaakov why this is taking longer.” _And maybe then he won’t be too angry_ , he thought privately.

“Perhaps. But I intend to pay _you_ , not him.”

The air stilled. “That makes no sense.”

“I already created an account for you, before this job. A portion of the money will be deposited there.” Otabek intoned. But Yuri was already standing up.

“But-“he stuttered. “No. don’t do that. I don’t need it.”

“I disagree.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your opinion on the matter!” Yuri spat. “I don’t need it. So you can keep your ridiculous bank account.” He swore in harsh Russian. “This is some fucked up daddy complex?”

Otabek, in spite of being bed ridden, managed to look as if he were on a throne. “Hardly. But you are discontent with the way Yaakov treats you aren’t you?”

“So what?” Yuri answered. “It’s just my life. I have what I need.”

“You have nothing of your own.” Otabek said. “I know how important that is. Isn’t that why you took the cat?”

Yuri blanched at the mention of it. “That was just…a game! It’s just a _thing_.”

“And something you know Yaakov would take away if he saw it.” Otabek replied. “Isn’t that why you gave it to me?”

Yuri fumed, breathing heavily even though he hadn’t been running. Eventually he found his voice, his fear leaking through.

“If Yaakov finds out… I don’t know what he will do.” He tried to explain.

The two men shared the moment, Yuri painfully conscious of his vulnerability just then, unsure how this point had even occurred. Eventually Yuri gathered himself together again, and turned back, so thirsty for some nicotine then, he could barely think.

“You should asked me, idiot.” Yuri said as he left. “You should have asked about that.”

The door snicked shut behind him.


	7. 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wanted to post this directly after the last one, but Ao went down, so yay for delayed gratification!
> 
> Ok, So here is the chapter you all (and I) have been waiting for!

He pulled on the stick with shaking fingers, glad the evening had taken everyone inside so he could have some privacy. Yuri wasn’t good with emotions that weren’t irritation or anger. Maybe that was why he was such a fucking mess right then.

The last time someone had given him something that was just his, his to own and keep, they’d left. The only thing that had taught him was that he wasn’t worth much, he didn’t qualify for the extended affection visa. He was leavable. Grandfather had left, Viktor had left…except he hadn’t.

Somewhere in all the crazy of the past couple of days, Yuri had forgotten about the fact that he still had to needle Otabek for further information about that, at least while he could. Before he got back to Russia. Which reminded him…

He dragged the burner phone out of his pocket slowly, knowing he couldn’t avoid it any longer, but regretting it nonetheless. There were only three numbers in it: Otabek Altin, Gregor, and Yaakov. He let the cigarette hang from his frown as he dialled the last.

The pick-up was slow, but it happened, and he heard Dimitri’s voice come on.

“Da.”

“It’s Yuri.” Yuri replied, slipping into Russian.

Dimitri’s only response was a low whistle and completely evil chuckle, and Yuri heard the fumbling of a phone being passed over. Then Yaakov’s voice drawl onto the line.

“Yuri.” The voice was a dead thing, anger making it flat and low, and Yuri hunched his shoulders automatically.

“Boss.” He said. “We ran into trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?” Yaakov demanded.

Yuri explained as simply and quickly as he could, knowing Yaakov had very little in the way of patience, and the fact that Yuri had waited so long to get back to him would already have him ready to boil over. When he finished, Yuri listened to the silence on the other end of the line while lighting another cigarette.

“Yura.” Yaakov eventually spoke. “You have better be telling me the truth.”

“I am.” Yuri gritted out.

“If you don’t come home with that broken rib and everything else, I will give them to you myself.” Yaakov replied with a falsely joking tone that was so transparent as to be pointless.

Yuri knew that Yaakov tended to get threatening when he was pissed, so he didn’t rise to the bait. At worst, Yaakov would just send him to prison again. Wonderful.

“I hear you.”

“Put Altin on.”

“He can’t speak now,” Yuri said quickly, feeling an absurd desire to protect Otabek from Yaakov just then “He’s asleep. I’ll tell him to call when he wakes up.”

Yaakov displeased grunt was all he heard before the phone hung up. Yuri turned it off and stowed it once more in his pocket. He yanked on a lock of hair, absently wondering if he should get a trim, contemplating. Then he stubbed the butt out on his shoe, and made his quick way back into the house.

“I don’t want to know why you thought it was a _good_ idea to make me a bank account,” he said as he came into the door of Otabek’s room, shutting it quickly behind him. “But I have something else I want. Something only you can give me.”

Otabek had looked up from his phone then, an expression of mild surprise marred by his sleep sodden eyes. But he turned the screen off and gave Yuri his full attention.

“I want to know about Viktor.”

Otabek blinked and Yuri waited, hoping and hoping and _hoping_. In the end, Otabek nodded.

“Acceptable.”

Yuri nodded back. “Good, we have a whole two days more of fun in this place, so you can tell me tomorrow. For now, go to sleep, and get stronger. You look like you’re going to pass out.”

Yuri once again, let the door close quietly behind him, showing a control he barely felt.

But he was good at faking.

 

-8-

 

“He is where?!” Yuri exploded, nearly dropping his coffee in his lap. “Shit-fuck. Hot.”

He sucked his fingers while Otabek watched him with semi-amusement. The night’s sleep had done him well, and breakfast too. He had his colour back and Ruslan had helped him into a shower at some point. Yuri had remarked he finally resembled a living person again. Now he sat calmly in his cushion throne and waited for Yuri to put the coffee down and compose himself. Eventually he gave up waiting and went on.

“Japan. He found new work there.” He said, sipping at his tea.

“As what, a cook?” Yuri said saying the first, incongruous thing he could think of.

“No. He is in much the same occupation as he was before.”

Yuri quit trying to wipe his hands against the cotton shirt he wore and looked up, non-plussed. “You’re telling me that Yaakov beat him to shit, he went underground for a few years and suddenly decided to go to japan to do…what?”

“Ostensibly, be a bodyguard. But he is more or less doing the same thing he did in Yaakov’s organisation.”

Which meant cutting and slicing, extracting information. Yuri had seen Viktor at work many times, and learned a lot from the education.  But the information as a whole was still a lot to take in. Viktor was _alive_ ….Viktor was alive in _Japan_. Viktor was reachable. He could actually see Viktor again.

Except that he couldn’t. He never would. The knowledge was a heavy weight, and his mood sank with it. He picked the coffee up again.

“Ok. Well, I guess birds of the feather blah blah. Seems odd though. I mean, according to what you’re saying,” Yuri swallowed a gulp of still hot coffee. “He stayed out of sight because if he didn’t…”

“Yaakov would have killed him.” Otabek affirmed.

“I can’t believe I…” Yuri trailed off. _Believed it_. _Didn’t know about it_. Had put his head down so low under Yaakov that he hadn’t even considered the fact that the old man had been lying to him from the start.

“Yaakov lies about a lot of things.” Otabek said, accurately guessing the tone of Yuri’s thoughts. “Did he tell you why Viktor left?”

Of course he had. Yaakov wanted everyone to know and understand unequivocally the disgusting aberration of nature that was the Homosexual. But he had made it seem like Viktor had been given the option to leave upon his discovery, as if Yaakov had given him the courtesy of the choice. But he hadn’t. And Yuri didn’t doubt it. It wasn’t just that he didn’t think Otabek was lying to him, but the fact that the story just _fit_. Because since Viktor had left, Yuri had come to know a different side of Yaakov, unbuffered by his grandfather or his mentor, to see the ghastly face he wore beneath the mask of charm and sickly grinning. That ultimately, Yaakov Feltsman was the king of casual cruelty and the delivery of unmitigated pain that went beyond the service it performed.  Had Viktor known, had he shielded Yuri?

He wasn’t dead, he hadn’t left. But Yuri was still alone.

“If you wanted to find him, I know here he is.” Otabek spoke breaking through his thoughts. Yuri heads snapped up.

“Why the fuck would I want to find him?” he snarled.

-8-

Otabek Altin watched Yuri from behind his face of calm, but his mind whirred, observing the blond closer than a science experiment.

He had never met a person who could flit between six different emotions in under a minute that wasn’t insane. But the more time he spent with Yuri, the more he realised that Yuri wasn’t mad, but he was angry.

Yuri _seethed,_ his anger seeping out of the edges and seams of his personality in the form of curse words and sarcasm and the frequent dramatic outbursts. He was clever and quick, with a tongue so sharp he could cut anyone down, from emperors to paupers, with no care for status or creed.

And now, after dealing out a larger measure of information to him about his previous mentor, he watched. Because he _had_ to know if Yuri had been in love with Viktor or not.

Otabek was very observant. It was his job. And he wasn’t blind to the lingering looks that Yuri sent his way, thought apparently Yuri was. When he had first met the man, he had viewed him as a briefly amusing venture, useful to a point. But something about Yuri had grown on him, as Yuri would say, like mould. You didn’t notice it until it was already there.

Yuri was both false bravado and a collection of evil, murderous ability, in equal parts. He had researched into Yaakov’s use of him in the organisation, and in spite of being given the toilet cleaning equivalent of jobs, Yuri Plisetsky did them all, equal to any task. Yaakov leaving him in prison had been a test of sorts. And when Otabek considered it more deeply, it made sense; Yaakov loathed homosexuals, and no matter how well Yuri performed, he would forever bear the taint of Viktor Nikiforov, the most infamous gay man in their circles thus far.

And Otabek wondered if Yuri Plisetsky knew he was gay. Or at least, knew he was attracted to Otabek Altin. If he didn’t, Otabek would find that frustrating, as he was with almost everything else Yuri did.  Because since the first job Yuri had completed for him, Otabek had kept thinking of what it would be like to kiss him. Or what the blond hair felt like.

Now he watched closely, because Yuri may sometimes attempt to keep his face neutral, but he needed very little to trigger his true feelings on any matter and they played across his face like a silent, aggressive film. He saw worry, guilt, confusion and hurt. Mostly hurt. And when Yuri was hurt, he got angry.

Yuri was hurt a lot.

“Why the fuck would I want to find him?” Yuri suddenly hissed and reminding Otabek very closely of the cat brooch. He recalculated.

“It is up to you.” He responded without bite, feeling that his question had not really been answered. He still could not decipher is Yuri’s feelings for Viktor had been more than a simple student/mentor closeness, or if his reaction was borne out of the feeling of betrayal he was experience from all sides.

“Whatever.” Yuri said, sinking back into his chair, legs bent and feet propped up a hand length away from him. He wore a grossly oversized jersey on loan from Ruslan. Though Otabek never said so aloud for fear of physical reprisal, it made Yuri look very, very young. He decided to let the subject drop.

His body throbbed still, the pain killers Ruslan had provided him with were effective but not strong enough to completely dull the pain. He preferred it, because he needed his wits about him for the time being. Even if Gregor kept a careful eye on the street and Yuri at his back, he couldn’t guarantee safety until he was in his home, on his island. And he couldn’t do that until he got on his plane, and delivered Yuri back to Russia.

As much as he didn’t want to.

Still, at least for now, Yuri was there, and that was good. Unconsciously, he touched the sleeve that covered the welt. The skin still itched and called to him, but the numbing agent Ruslan had given him helped, and he wouldn’t attempt scratching in front of Yuri.

“Tell me what that is.” Yuri demanded, poiting. Otabek glanced back to him and the followed his gaze to the sleeve, realising his mistake.

“Its nothing.” he said uselessly because Yuri had that glint in his eye that said he had been thinking.

“It’s _not_ a burn.” Yuri said. “Because I would have fucking seen it when I dragged your ass in here before and stripped you down.” Yuri seemed not to notice the faint flush in his pale cheeks when he said that. “And I doubt Ruslan’s personal brand of doctoring includes burning patients. Besides, if it was, you would have it bandaged and you don’t.”

Otabek resolutely didn’t touch the arm. But Yuri’s’ eyes were hotter on his skin at the moment. He sighed. Maybe it was the medications or the uncharacteristic weakness, maybe he just wanted to. He carefully lifted the cuff and rolled the fabric away from the inflamed skin.

“Since you have seen me at my weakest already.” Otabek explained, more to himself than Yuri at that point.

Yuri gave a muted hiss, and suddenly Otabek felt his bed dip to accommodate the new weight, and Yuri’s gold hair was swinging down in front of his face as he leaned over his legs to see, hand reaching out but not touching.

“What happened?” Yuri asked then, void devoid of any mocking or malice. Otabek focused on the thick curtain of hair, the fragrance of cheap shampoo coming from it close enough to smell. This man was so vain about his hair, almost as much as he was about the terrible shirts.

“ _I_ did it.” He met Yuri’s surprised green eyes without shame. “It’s called excoriation. It appears during times of stress.”

Yuri was still glaring at him, then the arm, then him again. “ _Ob’’yasnyat_.” _Explain_.

Otabek often reflected that in spite of preferring to swear at any chance, Yuri could be quite eloquent. “When I am stressed, my skin itches. It’s mostly psychological. Usually my control is better, but this time… in any case, once I start it’s hard to stop. I often catch myself doing it without realising.”

He watched as the information was absorbed and processed, and Yuri straightened his shoulders, looking at the skin again. His hand reached out, slowly like he was approaching something wild, and Otabek was overcome with the desire for him to do it.  To touch him, to touch the mark. When Yuri glanced at him for silent permission, he moved his arm very slightly closer.

Surprisingly Yuri didn’t go straight for gold. Instead, he first rolled the cuff further up, gentle and concise, far away from the actual inflammation, then lifted Otabek’s arm into his lap so he could see it better. He had already moved more solidly onto the bed, crossing his legs, uncaring that he was overlapping Otabek’s legs. For his part, Otabek found himself relishing the weight, not uncomfortable but enjoying the sensation of being touched, of someone coming into his space and it not feeling like an invasion.

Yuri’s fingers weren’t cool when he touched the red skin, but they were smooth and light, as if he knew how sensitive it would be to press harder. He tucked some hair behind an ear and sighed.

“You’re an idiot.”

“All my psychologists tell me otherwise.”

“As if you tell your psychologist know that you like to have tea with the Russian mafia on off days.”

“No.” Otabek said, a smile curling over his face, feeling as unfamiliar as it always did. “But I have been assured that apart from this disorder, I am in perfect mental health. And not an idiot.”

“Hmm.” Yuri hummed, no longer touching but his eyes not leaving the sight. “So this is why you wanted me to stick around.”

Otabek nodded, sighing slightly, knowing his vulnerability was on display. “Yes.”

“Because you didn’t feel safe.”

_Because you make me feel safe._

Yuri dropped his arm, but didn’t make to move it from his lap, so Otabek left it as was. Yuri propped a hand on his chin and gave Otabek a look that was unexpectedly raw.

“Ok. Sorry I bugged you about this.” He said, seemingly penitent. “It’s not…I’m sorry I forced you. I’m not good with cues.”

“You mean you prefer to bulldoze your way through a situation.” Otabek clarified.

Yuri shrugged. “It’s who I am. But I was wrong here.”

Otabek felt a lurch in his chest. “No. It’s alright. If I hadn’t wanted to, then I wouldn’t have let you bully me.”

Pale green eyes glinted at him from behind a swatch of golden hair. “You wanted me to?”

“I want you to trust me.”

The moment that followed made Otabek even more aware of the arm that rested comfortably against Yuri’s knee and he almost leaned closer then, but the protest from his abdominal muscles prevented him. Yuri noticed the flinch and smirked.

“If I had known you were such a lightweight in a fight, I would have stayed with you at the poker game.”

“You just want to hit people.” Otabek retorted and Yuri’s smirk turned into a full blown smile, laced with mischief. It was so rare for him to do that Otabek widened his eyes so he could burn it into memory.

“I always want to hit people.”

 

-8-

 

 

The day they left, Yuri asked Ruslan for some bandages.

First, he went to Otabek’s room. After lathering his arm with a cool gel, he carefully wrapped the white ribbon around Otabek’s arm in silence, used to dealing with injuries and finishing competently. Then he pointed at accusing finger at Otabek’s face and told him if anyone except him took it off, there would be repercussions.

The second roll he cut into three equal lengths and knotted them together at one end. Then he went to find the girl. He sat across from her on the couch of the living room and using mostly silent communication, and with a several muttered swear words, he showed her haw to braid a plait. He mad her hold the knot, and slowly folded the ribbons over one another, making sure his little pupil was watching closely because he would not be doing this again. Then he undid it, turned it around and made her repeat the action, halting her hands when he saw her going wrong, and nodding when she got it right.

He left her with the knot hooked around the leg of the coffee table, still practicing. When Gregor gave him a curious look Yuri shrugged. “Now she will stop fucking around with other people’s hair.”

 

-8-

 

Otabek was still in pain, but it was muted. He had other worries.

The first of which was dealing with the fall-out of the job gone wrong, and assuring his client that delivery of documents would be forthcoming and that the blood hadn’t covered anything crucial.

The second of which was Yuri Plisetsky, who sat with limberly folded legs in the seat opposite him, staring absently out of the window of the jet plane, the setting sun playing across his face and igniting his hair to something that was almost white. He was once again in his furiously orange shirt, the flappable fabric resting artfully over his frame.

Since they had gotten on the plane, Yuri had become withdrawn, as he had the time before. It wasn’t just his mood; everything about Yuri Plisetsky dulled, shrunk away until he was the creature that Yaakov had made him, the version of Yuri that was safe there.

Otabek loathed it.

He hadn’t realised just how much it had come to bother him, how the little ticks and comments that dropped from Yuri’s mouth had burrowed under his skin until they had gotten on the plane and Otabek had almost told the pilot to make his way to the Seychelles, instead of Russia.

He hated that he was the one taking Yuri there.

As he plane began its descent, Yuri turned to him, looking odd. The Otabek realised it was sadness. He watched him unpin the brooch from his shirt, its tiny glittering jewel made alive by the sunlight, and toss it over to him. Otabek caught it easily.

“Keep it for me?” Yuri said, but the words sounded like a death knell. They sounded like Yuri never expected to see it again. Otabek made sure Yuri saw him put it away in his pocket before making an internal decision.

“Yuri. I need to ask you something.”

Yuri’s head tilted in his direction, eyes turned pale and tea coloured. “Hmm?”

Otabek felt the skin under his bandage spike and prickle but he ignored it. Years of self-control aided him now.

“I want to…” he faltered in spite of himself. Was he so childish? But then…he had never had to ask permission before. Had never wanted to.

“You can’t open the bandage until I at least get off the plane.” Yuri interjected with a half-smile. “I can take care of you until then, at least.”

He unfolded his legs and placed bare feet against the soft carpeting on the floor and padded over, giving absolutely no indication at all that he had a broken rib and ten stiches on his left collar bone. What kind of pain must he have gotten used to?

He knelt by Otabek, once again pulling the sleeve of his soft woollen sweater up, and unravelling the bandage. Otabek watched him in silence, noting the way his hair feel carelessly over one shoulder in ropes of yellow and brown and dust colour, not one shade but many. The straight line of his nose, the extremely faint line of a scar that disappeared under his jawline. Yuri’s hands were gentle as he took the fabric away and touched the skin.

“It looks a lot better. That gel works.” He commented lightly and reach into the pocket of his jeans for the small bottle stowed there, squeezing the transparent gel out and smearing it generously across his arm.

“Does it itch now?” he asked, tilting his face up, face at rest, but eyes hinting at sadness.

“Very much so.” Otabek replied honestly.

“Deal with it. The swelling has gone down at least.” Yuri told him and began to wrap the arm again.

“I’m tired of enduring.” Otabek answered without really thinking about the words. Yuri, I have question.”

“So ask, wierdo.”

“I want to kiss you.”

The bandage was noiseless as it felt to the floor. Yuri’s hand suddenly still things, and the prickle in Otabek’s arm hitched up a notch.

“Yuri?”

The blond man, still kneeling at his feet seemed to push out his next breath, and said sounding strained. “That’s not a question.”

“It’s a request.” Otabek went on, heading hard down the hill he was on. “May I kiss you?”

Yuri’s face looking up at him then was equal parts fear and want, but Otabek bit his lip, counselling himself to be patient. Yuri’s eyes were wide but the jet had turned and no longer let the sun into the cabin. It was just the two of them, in the gloaming dark, and the waiting.

“Yes.” He whispered and saved Otabek’s still stinging muscles but raising himself up and catching Otabek’s mouth in his.

Otabek could feel his head pushing back into the head rest, but his hands came up to hold Yuri’s face, then slipped backwards to feel the place where his jaw met his neck, where the hair grew short on the back of his neck, and gave the kiss everything he wanted.  Though Yuri was above him, he accepted Otabek’s pressing, the tacit invitation to widen his mouth, to open his jaw. The slide of tongues was hesitant and light, and that was when he realised that he had received Yuri’s first kiss.

The plane lurched a little and they broke away, with the blond leaning over him and hair caressing the dies of Otabek’s cheeks while they breathed into each other’s mouths.

“More.” Yuri told him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excoriation is a thing: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Excoriation_disorder
> 
> Songs that are inspiring me right now:  
> Callum Scott - Rhythm inside.  
> Robert Pattinson - Never think.  
> Robert Pattinson - Let me sign.
> 
> If you guys have any song suggestions for this fic, whether it's something that already inspires you or makes you think of it or whatever, please link it to me! I would love to know what you're feeling.


	8. Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys If I got you all excited. I just wanted to share some art I did for the fic so far. Next chapter is in the works! Should be updating by the weekend!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://terra-nova.deviantart.com/art/Yuri-Plisetsy-aged-up-672639818?ga_submit_new=10%3A1491177327
> 
> and here: someone elses lovely art for the fic :)  
> http://shirotea.deviantart.com/art/A-CAT-IN-A-CORNER-OTABEK-ALTIN-FANART-672549334?ga_submit_new=10%3A1491148653

Coming soon!


	9. 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I need to apologize for what you're about to read. I want you to know it was hard for me to write too. But as my mom says 'things always get worse before they get better.'
> 
> Sorry if this chapter is too choppy. I hope it reads well.

Is there anything more wonderful than to find that the person you admire, admires you in return?

 _They kissed_.

They kissed while the plane dipped and tilted, Otabek felt Yuri’s grip tighter against his shoulders, adjusted himself so the other man could fold himself into his lap, in the limited way the seat allowed. They were locked together, a single point of gravity ignoring the way the jet soared through the air, wanting them to fall but unsuccessful.

They kissed until Otabek’s lips were throbbing, victim of Yuri’s enthusiastic response. Otabek threaded his hands hard into the blonde hair, holding the face above him close, feeling the rush of blood in his entire body.

Otabek had never asked permission before. He had never needed to. But this time, the fact that he had, made the gift so much more. When he tried to pull away to see Yuri’s face, he saw eyes closed, eyebrows drawn together and his lush mouth wet and panting.

“Don’t stop.”

Otabek kissed him with all the expertise he had gathered over the years, letting his hands roam carefully, assuring, soft. Yuri’s entire concentration was on the point where their mouth met, and Otabek shuddered at the intimacy of it. It wasn’t grinding, or tacit invitation to sex. It was simply…a kiss. A kiss that held the entirety of his want and innocence.

They kissed as the wheels scraped the ground, and all through the juddering, cabin shaking braking that surrounded them, making it feel as if they were in the centre of an earthquake. Then Otabek felt a hand on his collar bone, pushing down, pushing him away.

They separated, after years. Otabek knew dimly that the rush of blood he was currently experiencing would be felt with regret as soon as the adrenaline wore off, and the pain would return. It was pain in payment. Payment for this, this perfect thing.

But as he drew breath to speak something pointless and unreal, Yuri slid off his lap, and fled, locking himself in the on-board bathroom.

 

-8-

 

Yuri leaned against the wall in the tiny cubicle, and stared with wide eyes at the wall opposite. He didn’t think his eyes could get any wider. He tried sitting on the toilet seat but his feet kept hitting the edge of the basin edge and he lost his temper and kick it, swearing. In such a fucking extravagant thing like a private jet, why wasn’t the stupid bathroom bigger?

Then he pulled his hair away from his neck where is had started to stick and work its way under his collar with sweat, reaching for a familiar action and trying to steady his hands. Then he worked on slowing his heart beat.

That had been so unutterably _stupid_. For the entire plane trip, he had been working at accepting the reality of the situation which was this: he would never see Otabek Altin again. Except maybe from a distance. If he was lucky.

Yuri did not consider himself lucky.

No, he wasn’t. As he stared at himself in the small mirror, he saw mussed up blond hair and rouged cheeks and the glittering of green, lusty eyes. If Yaakov saw him like this he wouldn’t live to see the next day. It was so _obvious_.

He bent his head and sighed out a shuddering breath, fingernails digging into his thighs. He heard a whimper and realised _he’d_ made that sound.

He would never see Otabek Altin again.

This time, he bit into the meat of his hand, the base of his thumb. _Get a fucking grip_.

 _Don’t think about the kiss. Don’t think about smooth hands and warm breath and skin that smelled like the oncoming storm_.

_You are not those things._

_You are wet sleet and the grey slush of snow and dirt. You are the knife out of the sheath. You are the dog on the leash._

He bit down until he almost drew blood, but his had managed to gather himself by then. Squash down the fizzing adrenaline, the thing inside his lower chest that made him want to grin like a fool. He was a stray. That was all. Kissing Altin changed nothing. He was ‘nimble fingers’ and there would be future money givers who would want them. Whatever Otabek’s reason were for the kiss, were unimportant now.

 _He asked_ , the single thought chimed in his mind. _He asked me_.

The plane completed its taxi, and he felt the almost but not quite imperceptible lurch as it came to a halt. This time, when looked in the mirror, his hair was tied back, a smooth helmet. His eyes were blank and his expression bored, the subtle disdainful curve of the his lips in place. When he opened the door, he was ready once more, the face in place.

The world could go fuck itself.

He stepped out hands in pockets, and didn’t stop when Otabek stood with visible effort. But when his arm was caught, he had to.

“Yuri.” Otabek said his name like a statement. He raised a sardonic eyebrow. Otabek looked as if he had been slapped. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” Yuri said, pulling his arm out of Otabek’s grasp, eyes skating away. Otabek’s silence wasn’t unusual, but the energy between them still held Yuri, even though he knew he had to leave, quickly, quickly.

“You don’t have to go.” Otabek told him after a lengthy pause. Yuri managed a small, chuckle.

“Yes I do. It has my bed. And my cigarettes.”

“And Yaakov.” This time Yuri was enough of a coward to look away as he shrugged. _Quickly_.

Now he heard the edge of anger creep into Altin’s voice. “Why? Why must you do this? I could-“

“You could what?” Yuri whipped back around. “Take me with you? Keep me? Buy me a loft in whatever city you decided?” he spread his hands, still in his pickets. “It’s just a kiss Otabek.”

But the taller man would not be deterred. “It wasn’t ‘just a kiss’. Are you going to insist on being a brat? Now?”

Yuri tried to laugh but it came out like vapours. “So what then? I become your what- _boyfriend_? No, because there’s nothing like that here, “ he gestured between them. “I won’t be your fuck buddy.”

Otabek’s face grew dark, but Yuri was unimpressed; he had seen worse, would see worse, soon.

“This isn’t that. This was never- no, I won’t lie and pretend that this didn’t start out as a transaction. But it isn’t that anymore.”

“Yes it is.” Yuri said firmly. “Because without Yaakov, I have nothing. I have no money, no family, I don’t even have a welcome mat for my shitty flat.” He poked Otabek’s shoulders, hating the hurt surprise it caused on the usually stoic man’s face. “So if I come with you, all I’ll be is a burden. Thanks for the kiss, it was great, but I’m good now.”

“Yuri…”

But he was already turning away. “You said it yourself. I am owned.” He shrugged. “It’s not so bad. I get free dental.”

He slipped out of the runway door, which stood open and beckoning before Otabek could grab him and make him stay.

 It was a short trip from the stair way to the awaiting car. It too had a door opened for him, calling him forth. He took a deep breath of the cold winter air they had flown into, and folded himself inside quickly. He still didn’t have a jacket.

 

-8-

 

The first thing he felt were hands on him, around his waist, and squeezing tight and cruel. He cried out and retaliated, his elbow finding Dimitri’s jaw. Dimitri leaned back, chuckling to himself.

“So you’re ribs are broken after all.” He said, and nodded to the front seat, where Yaakov sat, facing forward.

“I didn’t fucking lie, you giant asswipe.” Yuri spat, still hissing at the pain. It was just bearable with the tight bandaging Ruslan had done before he left, but Dimitri’s sausage hands were meant for punching, not delicate work. Said hands were raised in mock surrender while Dimitri himself smiled unapologetically.

“Of course not. Why would you lie?” Yaakov’s voice rumbled from the front seat.

“Exactly.” Yuri replied, holding a hand over his side and focussing of breathing deeply through renewed pain.

“But I think,” Yaakov carried on casually, “that you will no longer be doing business with Altin.”

Yuri said nothing. The drive was silent and he stepped out without a word to the apartment block where he stayed, walking up the three flights alone he struggled to stretch high enough to find the key that he kept in the window frame above his door, because stretching was difficult to do when all your body wants to do is curl up. But he let himself into the apartment eventually, kicking the door closed behind him. He made a brief detour into the kitchenette to retrieve a half empty bottle of clear liquid that could peel paint, then retreated to his bedroom. The bed was still unmade, the cigarette butts filling the ashtray at his bedside giving the room a stale, putrid smell. He crawled under the wrinkled covers, bottle in hand.

He wished he hadn’t kissed Otabek Altin. Because now he knew what he couldn’t have.

 

-8-

 

 _94 days later_.

Yuri pressed down hard, until he could feel the slight grind of bone underneath eh thin soles of his worn down sneakers.

“How many times have we done this, you dumbass?” Yuri complained to the figure writhing beneath his feet. “Every other Friday. At least _try_ not to be predictable.”

“I just need…just a little, Fairy, just enough for…” the man managed to eke out of his squashed throat. He pawed at Yuri’s shoe, uselessly. Half a years’ worth of solid drug abuse had left him weak and pale and skinnier than Yuri had been in his teens. It wasn’t even a challenge. No matter what corner or bridge Yuri decided to linger around, Stanislav always found him.

“It’s not like I’m an easy target.” Yuri said. “I kick your ass every time. Do you want me to kill you or something?”

“No…no...”

Stanislav wept pathetically under his shoe, and Yuri rolled his eyes. He preferred not to kill, and Yaakov hadn’t told him to, so that made Stanislav a permanently un-comical relief in his daily routine. He eventually lifted his shoe, but kicked the man in his side anyway, hard.

“Fuck off, Stan.” He muttered and turned away, thinking it was time to go home anyway. Only the really desperate ones came out in this cold, and the dangerous ones came out at night, and he just didn’t feel like it today. He pushed his hands into his pockets, trudging down the street, the only splash of bright colour in a grey vista.

For three months Yuri had been pushing, making the underside of bridges and darker corners of the city his new stomping ground. He had been there often enough before, but since the incident Yaakov effused to have him do anything heavier than giving ounces to druggies. He couldn’t decide if it was a punishment or not.

The other matter of course was that Yaakov had been ornery lately. More likely to snap, less likely to wax lyrical, exchanging his false grins for stormy frowns. Something was bugging the boss, and Yuri thought it better than ever to do what he was told and stay out of the way.

A car pulled up to him. White, with a dent in the front that was starting to show rust. Yuri didn’t halt.

“Need a ride?” Dimitri asked from the driver’s seat, slowing down to Yuri’s pace.

“No.” was Yuri’s short answer.

“Come on. It’s colder than a retired whore out here. I’ll take you to the bar, we can get a beer.”

Yuri hated beer, and Dimitri knew it, but offered it every time anyway. “No.”

“So rude, Fairy. Come on. Besides, boss wants to see you.”

Suppressing a groan, Yuri stopped and turned to the man, who was just a little bit too small for the inside of his car. “Fine. But I don’t want to go anywhere, just take me home.”

Usually, Yaakov would call for him via text, but it wasn’t completely unusual for Dimitri to pick him up on a job. He always tried to make conversation though, which annoyed him, and was mostly ignored. It usually degenerated into Dimitri trying to play punch or poke him, which always got a rise, which Yuri supposed was why he did it in the first place. His life was full of childish morons.

“New shirt?” Dimitri asked when the door was closed and he pulled back into the road.

It was but Yuri didn’t care to be teased about his alternative fashion sense. Ever. He grunted in short response, opening his phone to check for messages. As he thought, nothing. Not that he was expecting anything. He never did.

“I’ve been thinking.” Dimitri said after a slight pause, his voice taking on a different note but Yuri wasn’t paying attention enough to notice.

“Are your ribs better?”

Yuri looked up, annoyed. “What? It’s been three months. Yes, they’re fucking better. Why do you care?” Dimitri shrugged, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He always had stubble, not enough to shave but enough to make a shadow over his rounded face.

“Just being a concerned friend.”

“We’re not friends.”

“Hey! That hurts.”

“Don’t care.”

The silence went on in the car for a moment, while Yuri scrolled through online clothing stores for something interesting.

“I keep thinking.” Dimitri tried again. “About when you got off that plane.”

“What plane?” Yuri replied without looking up.

“Altin’s plane.”

Yuri stilled. It was an unspoken rule that they weren’t allowed to speak about Altin. He carried on scrolling with one thumb.

“I’m going to listen to music now.” he said, fishing his earphone from his pocket but they were snatched from his hands. “What the fuck, Dimitri?”

“I’m trying to talk here. You’re being rude.” Dimitri said, his face suddenly stormy as he glanced at Yuri.

“Isn’t it obvious I don’t feel like small talk? Ever?” Yuri said trying to grab the wires back.

Suddenly Dimitri pulled over to the shoulder, and stopped the car. Yuri hands were still tangled in the phones when Dimitri turned his entire wide body in his direction, and Yuri suddenly felt his heart beat rise. He tried to let go of the earphones, but Dimitri caught his other hand, grinning.

“You were kissing him, weren’t you?”

Yuri was suddenly very aware of the fact that Dimitri had stopped the car, and was holding his hand unnecessarily hard. He yanked. “Let go.”

“I saw your face when you got in the car that day. All flushed.” Dimitri went on, his fingers curling tighter around Yuri’s, crunching his knuckles against each other. “It was very…attractive.”

“Let me go, you giant idiot.” Yuri said again, while his fingers worked his phone, hoping the fool wouldn’t notice. He didn’t, because his downturned eyes were focussed with feverish intensity on him, in a way that made Yuri want to vomit. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know _exactly_.” Dimitri insisted, giving Yuri a sudden pull, hard enough for the phone to fall from his fingers. Yuri laid a hand against Dimitri chest to prevent himself being pulled any closer. “You think I don’t see you? Oh ho, I know you do. You lie and lie to everyone and Yaakov, you tell us Viktor did nothing to you, oh, but I know the truth.”

Yuri was horrified. “I’m giving you five seconds to let me go. Then I’m knocking your teeth out.”

“Did Viktor touch you like this?” Dimitri hands were anything but tender, when he grabbed at Yuri shoulders abruptly, pushing one had round his neck to prevent him from moving away. Yuri strained against him, aware that the space between them was too narrow for him to get a good hit in. But the rough feeling of Dimitri’s hangnails tore at his senses.

“What else you two got up to, I am thinking to myself.” Dimitri went on, close enough for Yuri to smell his breath, to see the spit in the corners of his mouth. “And how loose are you, that you would do it with Altin also.”

“Fuck you, Dimitri.” Yuri spat. “Viktor never touched me, and if anyone ever looked at me the way you are now, I’d kill them.”

Yuri managed a clumsy uppercut to the underside of Dimitri’s jaw, which hurt like hell, but gave him enough room to follow it up with his elbow in Dimitri cheek. It loosed the man’s hold and Yuri pushed his fingers into Dimitri’s eyes hard, making him scream and reel backwards. Yuri scrabbled at the door handle before falling out of the car, grabbing his phone quickly before slamming it. Then his feet hit the ground, heading down a small side street that Dimitri couldn’t follow.

Then he glanced at his phone and stopped.

“Yuri!” Dimitri called from behind him. “Come on, don’t you like older men?”

It was astonishing that this man could still attempt to be funny at this point. Yuri rotated around back to face him.

“Why are you trying to kiss me, you disgusting fuck?” he demanded.

“Why, did you change your mind?” Dimitri leered, rubbing at his jaw. He was standing outside the car now, but hadn’t come around to Yuri’s side.

“No, but you have certainly changed someone’s.” he held out his phone, which showed there was still an active call on the line. The name Yaakov Feltsman stood out in bold red.  He watched at Dimitri’s face relaxed into confusion, then went completely slack with realisation. He said nothing more as he scurried into his sat again, slammed the door, and took off with a squeal of tyres.

Yuri brought the phone to his ear. “You get all of that?”

“The important parts.” Yaakov growled, anger making his words sharp.

“Great. When you catch him can I please have my earphones back?”

 

-8-

 

It didn’t take long for Dimitri to be smoked out of hiding; people were more afraid of Yaakov than they liked Dimitri, which wasn’t much anyway. Yaakov hadn’t spoken to him since that day, and Yuri was fine with that, keeping his head down and doing his job as he always did.

He made no show at all of the trembling within.

What the actual fuck, he had wheezed to himself that night, when he finally got home, after walking several hours in the cold drizzle back to his apartment. Only when the door was closed, could he slide down the door and fold up on the floor. It took a few minutes, but he went and found his trusty bottle soon after, and drank his way back to semi-normalcy. So what, had Dimitri been gay all along? He’d made it sound…odd, like he’d been watching Yuri far more closely than necessary. Now every poke, fake punch and flick in Yuri’s memory made him feel dizzy with revulsion, although that may have been half a litre of Vodka sloshing around in his empty belly. What did Dimitri think was going to happen exactly? Would he even have listened to Yuri if he’d said no? The idea roiled in his belly.

He spent the rest of the night playing with his knives, aiming at an extremely holey dartboard on the back of the bathroom door he stopped when there were more knives in the wood than the dartboard, and the bottle was empty.

Two days later, he had recovered his external equilibrium, but the worry was there, eating away at the edges of his thoughts and actions. Was he more transparent than he’d realised? Were there others watching him? Had Dimitri noticed because he was looking for it or because Yuri hadn’t hidden it well enough? It wasn’t as if he even found any of the men in his circle attractive. But the fact that Yaakov was blind to aberration within his own ranks gave no Yuri no comfort.

He was slowly pacing the pavement, cigarette hanging from his mouth, and so lost in the preoccupation that he almost missed a mark. He slowed down, just enough to be approachable, and the man who had been leaning against the face brick pushed off and latched his steps. He wasn’t the normal kind of customer; for one thing, he didn’t look half starved. But everyone had to start somewhere.

“Discount for first timers.” Yuri said quietly, as if talking to himself.

The man beside him chuckled briefly. “It’s been so long, you don’t recognise me?”

Yuri looked at the man then; dark hair, blue eyes, eyebrows like caterpillars over his eyes and expectant. Could someone’s eyebrows be expectant? Yuri frowned.

“You…Sezim?”

The man’s face broke into a broad smile. “I am flattered, it’s been almost a year. Since we first met.”

Yuri had stopped but stepped back now, making a distance between them, heart rate climbing. “What are you doing here?”

Sezim nodded in the direction they were walking, smiling benignly as if they were friends. “Let us keep walking, or it will look suspicious. You have eyes on you.”

“Always.” Yuri replied without thinking, but Sezim was right, suddenly halting in the middle of the road would look wrong, especially when he was supposed to be peddling. He started walking, but added. “It will look just as bad when you stay beside me. Obviously not here to buy.” It would look either like he was talking to police or worse, talking to Sezim, a man clearly connected to Otabek Altin.

“Then we should walk quickly, and find somewhere to sit.”

“Or you could just walk away.”

Sezim shook his head. “I suppose it’s true. Ah well, I have been sent to give you something, that is all.”

 _A knife in the gut?_ Yuri wouldn’t find it hugely surprising, since he was such a continental- sized dick to Otabek the last time they’d met. However, He saw Sezim hold out a small black card. Yuri glanced at it, but his curiosity got the better of him then and took it, bringing it closer. He almost lost his breath.

“It’s a new design.” Sezim said beside him.

On a small black square of card, the embossed, bronze hissing cat was painfully familiar. Underneath was a number.

“He said you wouldn’t need me to explain it.”

Yuri stared at the card some more, before realising what he was doing and shoving it into his back pocket, starting his steps again.

“See you, fairy.” Sezim’s voice followed him.

Yuri didn’t reply, but the card burned in his pocket like an illegal thing. He supposed it was.

 

-8-

 

The next day, Yuri got a message to get his ass to the basement.

The basement wasn’t a basement at all, but a retired meat locker in one of the industrial districts that Yaakov liked to use for his bloodier interrogations. The drains made it easier to clean, he said. Yuri had been to the basement a few times, it was both familiar and separate from him. It was a place where he was usually spectator or assistant. He was hardly the only one in the organisation with a skill with knives, but he didn’t have as much of a taste for torture. Yaakov always complained he finished the job too quickly; Yuri didn’t see the point of dragging things out. And besides, in the past year or so, Yaakov had been using his street expertise more than any skills he was taught by Viktor, with the exception of farming him out to Altin. He had been to the basement in months, but he knew the way.

It was a small surprise to arrive, walking through the abandoned passages until he got the cold room, and saw Dimitri there, naked and hog tied with cable ties. He swallowed his nausea seeing the mess of blood at his crotch and between his legs. Keeping his face still, he approached the two men there; Yaakov and Valentin, avoiding there looks of satisfied glee.

“Still alive?” Yuri managed to ask in a bored voice.

Yaakov’s hand came down heavily on his shoulder, smearing blood over the tiger stripes. Yuri forced himself to ignore the marks. “Just enough, Yura.” The old man said like he was pleased for the question.

“We left the best part for you.” Valentin added, handing over the bat that was stained a sort of red-brown, spattered like some morbid artwork. It was his favourite tool. Yuri saw the blossoms of bruises all over Dimitri’s body. Once a wall of a man, now reduced to a puddle of weakness on the unforgiving floor. Something about being naked made everyone more vulnerable.

“So you left me out of the fun.” Yuri said, the automatic response lined up and waiting to go.

“You would have finished too quickly.” Yaakov waved him off. “But in hindsight, you might have enjoyed the words that were exchanged. Not very educational, but interesting enough.”

A spike of alert whistled through Yuri’s body but he ignored it. He passed the bat back to Valentin and slid the dagger free from his belt in a swift movement.

“Hey.” Valentin complained. “That’s mine.”

“Oh let him.” Yaakov admonished. “It’s his personal choice.”

“If you had told me, I would have brought my own.” Yuri held the dagger aloft from the handle. “This is a stupid knife. Is it even sharp?”

Valetin folded his arms. “It’s sharp, little fairy.”

“Sharp enough to gut a pig?” he replied but it wasn’t he kind of question that needed answering. He walked closer to Dimitri’s prone from, and kicked him so he would roll over in his back, steadfastly avoiding the horror that used to be his crotch. He saw that Dimitri was awake, just enough for his swollen eyes to widen in surprise and a small whimper to escape his mouth.

Yuri suddenly felt unwilling for this. He had never enjoyed violence in particular, he preferred practical effective aggression. But now, seeing Dimitri as pathetic as he would ever be, already resigned to his death, ugly from his torture and fear, he had no energy for it. The air stank of blood and urine, and Yuri wrinkled his nose.

“You reek.” He told the man. Carefully, he leaned down to balance the tip of the blade just underneath Dimitri’s Adams apple, pressing it slightly when the man winced.

“Stay still.” He told him tonelessly. Then he placed his shoe over the handle, holding it in place. He glanced over at the other two; Yaakov looked amused and Valentin looked peeved. Then he turned back.

“I never liked you.” He said. And stepped down, the heel of the dagger pushing into he soles of his shoes.

-8-

 

Yaakov kept him arm around his shoulder as they walked out of the meat locker, leaving Valentin behind to clean up. Yuri noticed the spattering of blood that stained the corner of his shoe. When had that happened?

“Nicely done.” Yaakov was saying to him. “Too quick, but elegant, as usual.”

“I like to do a good job.” Yuri intoned. He itched to light up, but Yaakov didn’t like the smoke, complained it made his eyes scratchy.

“Yes you do.” Yaakov said. “I know you do.” Pat on the shoulder.

Yuri wondered how long it would take him before he could get to a bottle store and home again.

“He was begging me, Yura. To think that someone I have worked with for almost three years could turn out be something so disgusting. And then think that he had the right to beg me!” he rubbed Yuri’s shoulder again. “After doing something so heinous with my favourite.”

Startled, Yuri glanced at Yaakov, who caught the look and grinned his dead man grin again. Like all the people he had delivered into death had given him their dying grimace. “What? Yuri Plisetsky, you are like a grandson to me. You are precious, more than any simple idiot I find to throw a punch. _You_ are special.”

Yuri was caught in the frenzied look of Yaakov’s eyes, his grey teeth too wet, the skin on his face too tight. Panic thrilled though him, but he knew distantly Yaakov had gone from walking beside him to pressing him into the wall.

“Unlike all the others, I took you under my wing, when your grandfather passed on. As a favour. I treated you as my own, I gave you the best of things, didn’t I?” Yaakov was saying, grey eyes boring into his. “And Yuri, if anything about Dimitri dribbled before he died is true, you would have far more to fear from me than anyone else.”

Even Viktor? Yuri thought, then jerked at the unbidden word. He’d almost said it out loud.

What he did say was; “I’ve always given you my best.”

Yaakov’s heavy hand was trying to grind his shoulder into the wall. But after a stretched out moment, where Yaakov seemed to be trying to unwrap him from the inside out, he let go.

“Remember that, Yura.” He said briefly, his smile a non-existence thing, and left.

Yuri walked to the nearest bus stop, uncaring that some people noticed the blood smears on his shirt, now darkened. They could be mistaken for paint. Maybe.

He wondered then, why.

Why had Viktor left? Why he hadn’t chosen ignominy for life.

He wondered why at twenty three, everyone he knew still treated him like a teen. Except for one man.

He wondered about why he was still there.

He remembered the look of incredulity on Otabek’s face when he’d told the man that he was going back. He wondered why he had called it home.

He wondered how long he had left to live.

When he finally burst through the door of his apartment, he found the card, buried in the bottom most drawer on the bathroom cabinet, underneath a pile of old, water stained car magazines.

He typed a text, then dropped his phone, breathing heavily, and terrified.

It said; “ **Help**.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make my day.  
> Quotes make me happy cry.
> 
> Insight makes me go to sleep smiling.
> 
> all of it makes me so happy.


	10. 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you love something...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took longer than usual. It was hard for me to write. Honest. To the point where I didnt even check as much as usual for typos. I just needed to get it out.

Yuri had worked his way through his pack, and was down to one last cigarette when his phone pinged. It was 3:36 AM.

He eyed his phone, cast negligently next to the once more overflowing ashtray, some ash on its sleek screen. In the airless room, it was suddenly a dangerous thing. The message could be from Yaakov, or it could be from Altin.  The rock or the hard place. The devil he knew or the devil he didn’t.

He chided himself for his cowardice and grabbed the phone before he could change his mind and stare at it some more. It was from an alien number and it said;

**Burn the card. Pack a bag and leave it behind the Café on Inman Street today. Be ready.**

He tried to reply with an ‘ok’ but the message was bounced back undelivered. He nodded to nothing in particular. With alien hands, he dug the card out of his pocket, now creased and dog eared from abuse, and hung it over the flame of his lighter until it caught, watching the edge curl and disintegrate, dropping it only when it was about to burn his fingers. He sucked in a shuddering breath, tasting the acrid smoke on his tongue, letting it coat his lungs.

His phone buzzed again.

This time, it was from the devil he knew.

It took him very little time to pack a small threadbare gym bag with what he felt he couldn’t be without. His knives, rolled up in their black sheath bag, five shirts, two jeans, socks, underwear. Glancing around his apartment, there was nothing else there really that called out to him not to be abandoned. He hadn’t stamped the walls with himself, made it into a home instead of a habitation.

He shrugged his jacket onto his shoulders once more, grabbed the bag and left.

 

-8-

The drop off place wasn’t far from where he stayed, so he went by on the excuse of buying terrible coffee from the all night corner café. The bag slipped from his shoulder, and he swung it silently behind a dumpster as he walked by, not slowing even a step. When he got off the bus at a familiar stop, he walked the last couple of blocks to Yaakov’s ‘office’.

Yaakov didn’t own a house, as far as Yuri knew. He owned a lot of different buildings, but in the entire time Yuri had been in his organisation, he’d never even heard of him having a home, at least, not in the country. He lived, mostly, in the top floor of a strip club. It was a good strip club, with the Feltsman name and money backing it; the girls and boys were well looked after and trained, extremely good at their job and entertainment. Yuri was let in the back door with a brief nod, familiar as he was, but he still had to walk through the dressing room if he wanted to get upstairs. Ignoring the calls and comments he always received, he barely saw any of the cheap sequins as he passed.

“Hey, no smoking.” Gloriana complained as he detoured around her and her quivering breasts. He blew a lungful of smoke in her face in response and carried on through.

“I hate you.” She muttered at him, and he sent her a middle finger over his shoulder as he climbed the stairs, the music thumping and muted through the walls.

Yuri needed the smoke; it was his only defence against himself, at this point. The paper thin veil keeping his anxiety at bay. The line he tread now was more dangerous than any he had before; he had opted out and now he was waiting on Otabek’s generosity, every second that passed was a grain of sand in an egg-timer, impossibly small and impossibly heavy. But he was still here, in the club, heading to the upstairs office. He would have loved to wait inside the walls of his apartment until…what? Otabek came to rescue him like some sort of super man? Ugh, he was disgusted with himself, but not enough to mask his fear.

What he had done, what he was doing, felt much bigger than simply trying to escape a jailer.

He let his feet take him to the small kitchenette which was almost always empty of anything actually edible, which was why he had stopped for his own coffee. He saw a couple of guys there, including Valentin who lifted a hand in greeting.

“You too?” Yuri asked for want of something to say. “I hate coming out when the frost is still down.”

Valentin pushed away from the counter he was leaning against, breaking from the low conversation he was having and stepped over to him. His face was sombre, which was unusual, but it felt like there was something else there this time.

“No, boss says you are to go in.” Valentin told him when he was closer, hands in pockets. “Aren’t you lucky?”

“Why don’t I feel lucky?” Yuri replied, squaring his feet and giving Valentin a questioning look. Valentin wasn’t much taller than Yuri, so he hunkered down only slightly to say it.

“I never thought we would see him again, that’s for sure.”

If Yuri had not already been balancing the knifes edge of normalcy, he would have done something to give himself away. But he was on hyper alert, senses straining and mind whirring as fast as when he was on a job.

“Who?” he said aloud, thought he knew damn well.

Valentin rubbed his neck, distracted. “That guy, Altin. I heard boss get the call and it sounded like…like he insisted on coming here.” Valentin turned a worried eye on Yuri. “After everything that’s been going on…”

“Val, could you stop being so fucking vague? Just tell me what you’re going on about.” Yuri said in irritation, draining the last of his coffee without tasting it.

“Don’t you know?” Valentin asked, surprised. “Ah, I suppose you wouldn’t, you were out when we found out. I thought boss would have told you…though maybe…”

Yuri reached out and yanked on the taller man ear hard, bringing out a small yelp. “Idiot. Say this or say that, but stop mumbling to yourself.”

“Ow, Yuri!” Complained Valentin. “I was about to tell you: Yaakov found Viktor, he’s working in japan for the Katsuki.”

Somehow, Yuri managed to find the appropriate response. “Viktor? Viktor Silver? He’s alive?”

Yuri knew that, and that he was in japan, but he hadn’t known about the Katsuki clan part. Backtracking in his brain fast enough to react correctly would have been hard if he wasn’t partly prepared for it and also just about ready to leap out of his skin.

Valentin took his reaction to heart. Covering his mouth, he realised his blunder. Unlike Yuri, he’d only come into the organisation around the same time at Dimitri, and hadn’t been there for the fallout. He must have known about Viktor from picking up around Yaakov, but not have known that Yuri was supposed to think he was dead.

“Shit.” He breathed into his hand. “Uh…I thought you knew.”

“Obviously.” Yuri replied drily. This man was such an idiot. More baseball bat than brains.

“Don’t tell the boss…” but Yuri waved him off.

“So that’s why he’s been so sour lately?”

Valentin nodded, semi relieved but still eying Yuri warily in case betrayal was on his agenda. “Yes, and then today, Altin just arrived out of nowhere…he isn’t in a good mood.”

“When is that ever the case?” Yuri said, stepping away from the man and towards the main office.

He didn’t have time to think it over, to try and understand it, what did Otabek think he was doing here? It was just as dangerous for the man as it was for Yuri. He imagined some sort of clandestine escape in the dark of night, not this. Not Altin putting himself out on a limb.

Well, at least he was a punctual sort of idiot.

Thinking on it, the always slumbering embers of his loathing rose to the surface. Not towards anything in particular, but it had been around so long it didn’t need a reason anymore. He hated that he didn’t have a car, hated that he had to rely on someone else who, honestly, he barely knew and found inconveniently attractive and had kissed him in a way that he simply _could not get out of his head_. He hated that Yaakov made him afraid, he hated being seen as a child. He hated needing help and never, not once in his life, being able to rely on himself for something that he needed.

For once, Yuri wished that there was something in his life that was not owned or given by someone else.

He opened the door and stepped in, feeling murderously disposed. But when he caught Altin’s eye, glancing at him boredly over one shoulder, then away, he forgot all about it.

 

-8-

Otabek allowed himself one small glimpse of the blond at the door before needing to look away. The familiar stormy expression melting away into naked shock was too much in that moment, and he had to keep up the dance with Yaakov, who was just waiting for a reason.

Otabek had offered him something extremely valuable, in order to get the man to soften up enough to let him hire Yuri one last time. Somehow, Feltsman had finally gotten wind of Viktor Nikiforov’s new employment, and new employer, and it made him more difficult to work with than usual. Add to that that some kind of event had occurred concerning Yuri and someone else in his organisation, which apparently left Yaakov asking all kinds of probing questions as to the nature of their working relationship.

It was unusual for Otabek to insist on an exchange. He wasn’t a man who needed things from others, but was rather good at trading favours for favours, information for information. Sometimes it drifted into the realm of violence, but it wasn’t his stock in trade. The point was that Otabek rarely asked, and when denied (very unusual) he didn’t press, knowing that he could find what he needed elsewhere. And leaving the denier knowing that he had lost out on the opportunity to have a favour owed them from Otabek Altin, no small treasure.

But the last two instances he had dealt with Yaakov, and thus Yuri, had involved money changing hands, which suited him fine. But this time, Yaakov had been reluctant, and Otabek had to offer something worthier. It was a careful balance to maintain, to follow through with his request and yet appear as if he didn’t really need it.

He looked at Yaakov, who was watching him avidly. “I’ve changed my mind.”

Yaakov’s faced went slack with surprise. “What?”

Otabek stood. “I’ve just remembered what an extreme hassle he is to work with. I only came here because I had business, but I would rather find someone else. Someone who doesn’t curse the sky blue.”

Yaakov’s surprise was short lived, and replaced with a many toothed smile that Otabek found disturbing; it didn’t fit on his face. “You are amusing Altin. You come here and waste my time, only to change your mind?”

Otabek kept his face immobile, but let a hint of his ire show. “Can you blame me? Perhaps for you he listens, but working with him is too tiresome for me. I want a professional.”

“Excuse me? You hired me twice, asshole.” Yuri’s voice joined in as he came up beside him. Otabek didn’t turn to him, but kept his eyes on Yaakov.

“I apologise for wasting your time.” He said and waved to Sezim, who haws standing at a discreet distance away from him.

“What about our deal?” Yaakov asked.

“Hmm?” Otabek turned back slightly. “Well, obviously there no need for a trade now.”

Yaakov’s face claimed its usual state, which was somewhere between contemplative and angry and constipated. “You made me a promise, Altin.”

“No, I offered a deal. Do you understand how that works?”

It was a cheeky thing to say, and honestly completely out of character for him, but there was something about the man that made him itch. And since he had found out about Viktor and Yuuri Katsuki, he was more difficult than usual. Otabek avoided him usually but…well…

“Take him. I’ll make sure he listens then.” Yaakov told him while shooting a dark look at Yuri. “Won’t you?”

 Otabek couldn’t help but see the flinch, and then the angry shame that followed it. The blond man was so unbelievably transparent, it was a miracle he had kept his sexuality a secret from the one man who would castrate him for it.

Which was another reason why he had to get Yuri out of there. But the game had to be played.

Yaakov stood up, came to stand beside Yuri, taller than him but a breath only but giving off the air that Yuri was somehow a child when he hung an arm over his shoulder. Yuri looked at the ground, neither accepting nor denying it.

“I agree, he is not the most eager of people, but you have found him useful in the past, yes?” Yaakov said in the manner of a car salesman. “And to be honest with you, you would be doing me a favour. There have been some…events happening in the past week or so, and perhaps it would be good for Yuri to be away for…how many days did you say?”

“Three.” Otabek replied tonelessly, though if everything went well, he wouldn’t be returning at all. “It sounds as if you’re trying to make your problem mine, Feltsman.”

Yaakov shook his head indulgently. “No, but if we cannot use our original deal, perhaps I can owe you a favour for this one.”

“What on earth is so important that you would prefer to owe me a favour?” Otabek asked, though he knew very well.

“He’s talking about Dimitri.” Yuri spoke up then, face pouting. “One of our men tried to attack me.”

“Keep our business ours.” Yaakov hissed at him warningly, and Otabek didn’t missed the way his hand squeezed too tightly on Yuri’s shoulder. True to character and Otabek’s internal delight Yuri went on regardless.

“Like it matters. He’s going to find out anyway, if he doesn’t know already.”

“Maybe I should keep you here after all.” Yaakov said low. “He is right, you are troublesome.”

Otabek decided the advantage was slipping so he intervened. “Make a decision, Feltsman. I have business elsewhere, and if I am hiring Plisetsky it must be now.”

Yaakov seemed not to hear him then, having a stare down with his underling, which Yuri, against all sense of self-preservation did not look away from.

“I don’t want to go.” Yuri eventually said. Which sealed the deal.

Yaakov looked to Otabek with a flat expression. “Take him. Bring him back with better manners.”

“Impossible.”

“Boss!”

Otabek signalled to Sezim. “Mr Plisetsky, I would prefer you to come willingly. I have no interest in wrangling you on board or persuading you to work for me. Are you coming or not?”

Yuri was engaged in a battle of wills with his boss that was entirely communicated with looks. Eventually Yuri tched and spun on his heel, marching out of the office with bad grace. Otabek kept his face cool as he followed, and Sezim soon after.

At the door he turned. “You owe me.”

Yaakov grunted.

 

-8-

 

It was a relatively short rip from there to the hangar, and it was made in silence. Yuri didn’t dare risk even a glance at Altin who was as stone-faced as ever. His bag as promised was in the trunk of the car, and he spared a completely unilluminating look with Sezim before taking it and following Altin up the ramp. When inside, he stood in the entryway, feeling unusually out of place.

He knew the jet well by now, but for the first time, it felt alien and unwelcome. Otabek outwardly looked the same, settling himself into his usual seat, swivelling it slightly towards the window and opening his tablet, face inscrutable. After the last time he’d been there….he had no idea where he stood anymore. He been offered, and had accepted the man’s help, but there was the huge floating elephant in the room that had never been addressed. Or rather, had been addressed in the worst possible way, with Yuri certain he would never be able to see Otabek again.

So the question now was if the extended hand also counted as an olive branch.

Yuri drew breath. “Otabek-“

“There is a change of clothes for you in the bathroom. And here.”

Otabek tossed him something glittering with barely a look his way. Yuri caught it easily.

The cat. The one thing he owned that hadn’t been given to him, or ultimately belonged to someone else. It had been an afterthought to steal it, but it had become some kind of twisted metaphor now, for something he couldn’t name yet.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” Otabek said, typing at his screen. “It is yours, I am simply returning it to you.”

Yuri felt a spike of anger. “I…thank you.”

“I told you, thanks are pointless.”

“I meant for…coming for me.”

There was a heavy little pause then and Otabek turned his grey eyes to Yuri, and they were cold. “I owed you. You refused payment for services the last time we met, and I hate having a debt unpaid. I offered help and you accepted. From here I will take you to Japan, and that is where our interactions will cease.”

Yuri drew breath into constricted lungs, his head suddenly boiling. “You owed me?” he snapped. “For what? I helped you out of my own free will. Not everything is an exchange, Otabek.”

“Yes, it is.” Otabek replied, looking back to his business. “You made it clear that there was nothing else than business to our relationship.”

Yuri’s mouth gaped slightly, as all the words in his head got stuck in his airways and stopped any from passing through. Eventually he drew a deeper breath to calm himself down. “Why Japan?”

“I assume you would want to find Viktor. I know where he is.”

Yuri blinked, once more speechless.

“I will leave you there with a sum of money I consider appropriate for services rendered, and an address. And a warning; Viktor is under the impression you were part of his downfall, to the point where he even blames you for Feltsman torture of him. When you see him, remember this and approach wisely.”

Yuri was still holding the cat, and didn’t realise that he was clutching it tight enough to cut painfully into his palm.

“Otabek.”

“That is all.”

“The fuck it is!” Yuri exclaimed. “Are you going to pretend like…ah fuck. I just want to apologise.”

Otabek’s eyes were guarded and sent him a side-glance. “Apologise.”

Yuri took a chance and stepped closer. “Yes. For…last time. I was…kind of an ass.”

“Unsurprisingly.”

The blond bit back his knee jerk response because it would make the apology seem insincere. Then he changed his mind. “You’re such a pleasure yourself. IM trying to say sorry and you have no intention of accepting it.”

“I have no intention of making it easy.” Otabek responded, laying his tablet aside and swivelling his eat, legs elegantly crossed and waiting.  Suddenly, Yuri felt completely awkward.

“Uh…” he started, the focussed on the weight in his hand. “I’m sorry. For kissing you and then saying what I said….I thought I would never see you again.”

“You thought that since we would never meet again, it was alight to kiss me and leave?”

“No!” Yuri denied. “you’re’ twisting is...uh. I mean that before that, I thought… I didn’t...” Yuri stumbled so much more at home with sharp angry expressions than apologies. He had rarely given an apology he really meant. “When you kissed me, I had already resigned myself to never seeing you again. And then…it did. I mean, we did. And then…it just felt…stupid.”

“Stupid.”

“Yes.” Yuri said. “Because, it was as if I had done the one thing I was trying to avoid and doing it made everything harder.”

Otabek continued to gaze at him, Yuri words falling like stones from his mouth, unaffected. Then he nodded briefly.

“You are not ready.” He said, turning away.

This was too much. “Excuse the fuck out of me, but what does _that_ mean?”

Otabek picked his tablet up once more. “It means this: you are a large fish forced to live in a small pond for too long a time, and you have forgotten how it feels to be in open waters. You don’t know how to live when not under Feltsman’s thumb. Until you work that out, how could you know how to react to me? Or anything that normal people do. No, you are not your own man, so you don’t know what you want.”

Yuri felt slapped. “I’m man enough for you to kiss though?  And I’m old enough to know when I’m being talked down you, you arrogant prick.”

Frustratingly, Otabek’s only reaction to that was the pressing of his mouth into a thin line. “I gave in to my impulse, which I shouldn’t have. I regret it now.”

The words settled in his mind, ice cold and immutable.

“Until you learn to live without the leash, there is no point in pursuing anything with you.” Otabek said coldly. “So, Japan seems best. Unless you wish to go elsewhere. It’s up to you.”

 _It’s up to you_.

 

Yuri lifted his bag with a numb hand, mind whirring. He made his preoccupied way to the bathroom, making a detour around Otabek, who didn’t appear to notice.

 _Until you learn to live without the leash._ Without meaning to, Yuri touched his neck, and for the first time in over a decade, didn’t feel strangled for breath.

_No, you are not your own man, so you don’t know what you want._

“Fuck you, Otabek Altin.” Yuri muttered angrily to himself and lit up a cigarette, ignoring the no smoking sign.

 

-8-

 

Otabek stared sightlessly out the window, his tablet forgotten in his hands. He hadn’t meant for it to come out that way…

But he couldn’t take it back now. And it was likely better that way.

He heard the faint ping of the smoke alarm going off, then smelled the tobacco smoke filtering through the air and sighed to himself. Sezim came out of the cockpit and Otabek halted him with a hand and shake of the head. Yuri would do whatever he would do.

He didn’t want it to be like this. But it had to be like this.

He had underestimated the extent of the damage inside of Yuri’s skin. Giving in to his own desires had been stupid, and selfish, and he refused to make that mistake again. It would make him like Feltsman, in a sick way.

The only way to make a stray cat come to you, was to let it come on its own.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again apologies are in order.   
> I am sorry for the cliffhanger. It's what I do. And the next chapter is like, sort of written in my head though.  
>  Um, sorry.


	11. 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things happen. Not good things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, a chapter for the weekend. Ya'll peeps be thirsty.
> 
> This was challenging for me to write for two reasons:  
> 1) Yuri gets hurt. I don't like it.
> 
> 2) I had to go over Invitations, and saw all my horrible typos and shitty writing and that was a kind of painful too. Please understand, I wrote that without any intention of writing this one, so some things don't line up properly. I will do my best to parallel though, where necessary, but this is Yuri and Otabek's story, so this will probably be the biggest alignment you'll see.

Otabek stood alone at the window of the suite at Hotel La’mer, Dijon Paris. It was raining but it made the lights blur and sparkle in the night air. He nursed a very slowly dwindling glass of red in one hand. In the other, his fingers fidgeted idly with a red gold brooch in the shape of a cat.

Yuri’s goodbye was like him; abrupt, intense and sincere. The blond had taken the cat from his pocket and pushed it at Otabek’s chest until he took it.

“Keep that.” Yuri’s green eyes were like jewels themselves. “I’m going because I have to, but I will be coming back for it.”

And then he had jogged down the ramp without a backwards look. He had a small bag, some small amount that Otabek had paid him, and the clothes on his back. As Otabek watched, he saw Yuri light a cigarette, appearing full of confidence and decisive action. If he feared the unknown of his current life, he didn’t show it

On the trip, Otabek had debated leaving the icy silence be, but he felt he couldn’t leave Yuri with nothing.

“You understand why Yaakov is angry about Viktor, don’t you?” he asked carefully.

Yuri had looked up at him, startled, then furrowed his brow. After some thought, he nodded. “Because he doesn’t like that Viktor isn’t dead. He…thinks he owns us. And he doesn’t like sharing.”

“He probably wants him back.”

“To kill him.”

Otabek had stopped then, because the strain in Yuri’s voice had reminded him of a string pulled too tight.

The rain pattered gently on the glass. The itching prickled on his forearms, calling, and was ignored.

He couldn’t pull his thoughts away from the man for long, no matter what.

He hoped that the blond was doing well.

 

-8-

 

Things were not going well.

Yuri tried unsuccessfully to spit the blood from his mouth, but it was too congealed. Oh well, at least he still had all his teeth.

The man charged with his interrogation leaned down, hanging his head almost upside down like some sort of bat, getting into his line of vision. What was left of it.

“Come now. I’m not allowed to play with the other Russian, so please don’t ruin my fun.”

The man was mad. It was so clear, he wore it like a loud shirt. But he was also dark skinned, and his short cropped hair had a slight curl to it, which said ‘European’ to Yuri, but then he spoke and the English was heavily flavoured with Japanese accent, and also muttered to himself in rapid Japanese. It was a bizarre combination. Yuri had once heard of a dog raised with cats, and ended up taking on the characteristics and habits of his feline family; this reminded Yuri of that dog.

He was also an asshole.

“I don’t feel like playing, psycho.” Yuri managed around a heavy tongue. “I want to speak to Viktor.”

“That’s not up to you.” The man replied gleefully. “Nothing is. I would like to know though; is it the custom of Russian to simply walk into dangerous places? Is it a sport maybe?”

Yuri tried rolling his eyes but the swelling on the right side of his face spoiled the effect. “You talk a lot. Take me to Viktor.”

“Russian are demanding too it seems.” His interrogator mused then abruptly came to rest on his haunches in front of Yuri, bending down so he could see his lowered face. With hands tied behind his back, and after several hours of slow. Bloody wearing down, Yuri couldn’t help slumping. But he hadn’t given in yet.

“I want to try something.” The man wiggled, his delight obvious. “I read up on this new technique.”

Yuri watched as the crazy man brought out a small set of clean knives.

“You know, having so many knives seems like you’re compensating for something.” Yuri commented, coughing a little.

The man shrugged. “I just go through so many, and cleaning them takes too much time when I’m working.”

That was another tell of the crazies; one minute they were acting like kids, giggling stupidly at something only they found funny, the next minute able to sound like a normal functioning adult.  He watched as a knife was pulled out.

“This took some work, so please appreciate it.” He said, twisting the blade in his hand and holding it up for Yuri to see. “I had to do some research.”

Quickly, too quick for Yuri’s delayed reaction times, the knife flicked out and Yuri felt a sting in the skin of his eyelid.

“Fuck!” Yuri swore, pushing himself back, and blinking hard, but blood was already dropping into his eye. The man was insanely quick and his slicing was expert. He heard a chuckle.

“You see, I’ve coated this knife with a thin bacteria. Nothing big for now, still in its testing phase, but enough for it to get into your cuts and blood and slowly start infecting your body.” The dark skinned man observed his knife closely with wet eyes. “If it works, I would appreciate feedback.”

Yuri felt another sting on the skin under his chin. He tried to lash out with his foot, but they were both tied to chair legs. Another sting, more present this time, right next to the huge would Viktor knife had left earlier.

“Stop it, you mad fuck!” Yuri hissed, glaring.

The insane creature smiled widely and took out another silver blade, but the door behind him opened.

Yuri almost wilted with relief. But he kept his composure nonetheless. Viktor had finally arrived.

After two days of hunting around for the address Otabek had left him with, it hadn’t been the best reunion, though Yuri hadn’t expected it to be. Still, he had hoped he could at least get a few words in before being beating into uncocniousness, but Viktor had become less soft since he’d known him before, and definitely more vicious. No, that was the wrong word.

Unforgiving.

The new cuts stung, his ribs ached, his face throbbed but he stared at Viktor hoping for anything other than the blank, soulless expression in his face. He and his new boss both leaned against the back wall, mimicking positions. Even though the crazy torturer was still speaking something to him, he drank the sight of his old tutor in.

Short hair now, sharper facial features, no mirth in his eyes at all. He watched the way he interacted with The Serpent, with quiet words and head tilts of deference. It was so…unfamiliar. He had never been that way before. Yaakov had communicated with direct instruction, giving forcefully with either rough words or rough laughter. Yuri remembered Viktor being a bit of a clown, eager to make Yaakov laugh or chuckle, sometimes companion, but mostly underling. This was different, and Yuri didn’t understand it.

 

Then he saw the Serpent wave a regal hand for Viktor step outside and Yuri panicked, thinking Viktor would leave without hearing him out. He drew breathe to speak but his mouth was gagged with a blood slicked hand.

“Pay attention, fairy.” The man hissed at him. “You Russians are so arrogant, you’re just like him. He is silver and you are the gold. Silver and gold, silver and gold.”

Yuri tried to shake himself free but stopped he felt a not too unfamiliar slide against his cheek, followed by the burst of warmth. When he tried to bite down on the hand it was removed and he graced the idiot with a scathing glare.

“You’re such an idiot. If you keep on cutting me, I’ll stop feeling it eventually. Then your play is pointless. Unprofessional, don’t you think?”

“Who are you to lecture me, fairy?” the man snapped.

“I’m _better_ than you, crazy boy.” Yuri told him, and earned himself a resounding smack. Still, he drew breath again.

“Viktor! Viktor, this is completely unnecessary! I will tell you everything you need to know!” he yelled out in Russian, willing Viktor’s ears to hear.

Yuri was surprised to see not Viktor but the Serpent stride back into the room. The next moment however, he was seeing black spots in front of his eyes, the man had hit him that hard.

“English. You aren’t in the motherland now.” he barely heard over the ringing in his ears.

“Kitten, you should know better.” Viktor added behind him, sounding bored.

Yuri spat out blood, gathering himself. He _needed_ to say this now, and ignored the giggling in the background. “Fine. I am here to speak to you, Viktor.”

Viktor shrugged. “It’s not up to  _me_  if we listen to anything you say.”

. “Yuri Plisetsky, also known as the Russian Fairy, employed by Yaakov and his organisation in Russia.” Yuri heard, and his eyes were drawn to a silver coin flashing between the knuckles of the serpent. How such a small man, barely taller than he was, could exude so much power eluded Yuri. Yaakov had never come across that way to him; he was someone who claimed your fear, not your respect.

Yuri tried once more, using an old, pet name of Viktor in the hopes that it would spark a connection. “Vitya, I came to warn-“

There was another unforeseen, casually violent backhand and this time, Yuri fought to keep his grip on consciousness.

“That’s not his name here.” The man spoke quietly. “You will not say it again.”

Viktor shifted but stayed silent while Pichit went to fetch the thrown coin and tossed it back to his master, who caught it expertly.

Yuri drew himself together, feeling more and more like this had been a bad idea. He told himself not to be a smart mouth, as it would likely just earn him another smack, and that would only make things take longer.

“Viktor Nikiforov, I didn’t come here to argue. I came here to talk.”

Yuri to get any kind of reaction from his previous teacher, to make him see that he was here to help, or least not an enemy. To see…anything. But after he exchanged another look with the Serpent, Viktor stepped closer, folding himself slowly down to look straight into Yuri’s eyes, blue eyes close and pure.

Yuri understood. Yaakov had enjoyed this clever little technique Viktor had perfected; the ability to tell when a person was lying. He was almost always right, and the times he wasn’t were vague. It was painfully indicative to Yuri then, because it meant that Viktor most certainly didn’t trust him. He treated the same way he treated any person, bound to a chair for the purposes of bloody interrogation.

“I have one question.” Viktor said. “If you lie, then your one, slim chance of not bleeding to death on this remarkably resilient concrete will be gone.”

Yuri said nothing, only blinked away the blood dripping into his eyelashes, determined to do at least this one thing.

 _Please Viktor_.

“When you ran to Yaakov, to tell him what you saw, who you saw me with, and did you know what would happen? That they would beat me almost to death and throw me out into the winter?”

 “No.” Yuri said firmly, eyes as open and clear as they could go. “No, I didn’t know.”

 _Please Viktor. Know that it wasn’t me. I didn’t know_.

Viktor caught his breath inaudibly and stopped himself from rocking back on his heels, Yuri didn’t miss how his face wrinkled as if he had heard something unpleasant.

“You’re lying.” He gritted out.

“You know I’m not.” Yuri replied, shoulders hunched and his glower fading away, feeling himself lose his strength as his once mentor back away. “I didn’t know, I wasn’t even the one who told him.”

Whatever other interactions happened then Yuri missed completely. His consciousness was becoming foggier and he reflected that perhaps he had lost enough blood to need some rest. It was extremely unpleasant.

But the real reason for his wilting strength was this: what thin hope he had held onto that Viktor would forgive him, invite him back, trust him again was gone. In the small, grey cell with his blood making interesting little puddles on the floor, he was alone.

He had been alone for a long time, but there had been hope when he’d learned Viktor was alive. Viktor, a single happy memory in his otherwise trail some life.

No, there was nothing for him here.

He had nothing. Again.

-8-

Yuri was unaccustomed to being on the other end of torture. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been injured in the past; he had plenty of scars to prove it, on his bones as well as his flesh. But passing out while strapped to a chair and being left there overnight, only to be rudely awakened, was new to him.

He hated his body and his body hated him back then. And true to the psycho’s word, the small delicate cuts with the infected knifes felt hotter than everywhere else, and everywhere else felt pretty fucking awful. He was dragged along by some large, muscled woman who obviously didn’t give a shit if he was stumbling or walking. If he slowed, she just kicked him or poked at an open wound, which he preferred to avoid if possible.

He was unsure about the next step from here, but he was hoping he wouldn’t be dying in fucking Japan. It wasn’t that he wanted to die somewhere else; he didn’t want to die at all. Between his failing body and the currently splintered pieces of his idealism, he wasn’t feeling very hopeful about that. But Viktor had known he wasn’t lying. That had o count for something.

He found himself pulled into an extremely well laid out office, though he couldn’t get much of it with only one functioning eye. He collapsed onto his knees, seeing the intricate weaving of patterns and fleur de Lis in the thick carpet.

Then looked up.

Once again, his judges were Viktor and the Serpent. He tried to swallow, but his throat wasn’t cooperating. His mind, however, was moving fast, assessing the situation and figuring out his exact chances of survival, which was another reason why he hadn’t spoken yet.

And then there was Otabek, staring at him through a computer screen. Any ideas he had fluttered away.

He hadn’t heard the lead up, but he saw Otabek’s expressionless face tilt slightly, thoughtful. Then: “Barely. But the hair…is that Yuri Plisetsky.”

“Very well done.” The Serpent said, seemingly enjoying the answer, but his expressions were so contained it was hard to tell. “What can you tell me about him?”

Otabek continued to speak, as professional as ever. “Yuri the Russian Fairy. Went MIA a few days ago and Uncle Yaakov is being very quiet about it, which means he is angry about it. Did you kidnap him?”

Yuri covered a sigh of relief as the laptop was turned away. Even with Viktor in the room, even under threat of death, he had felt more exposed in those ten seconds under Otabek’s gaze than any other time before. He was suddenly vividly self-conscious about his appearance, and wish he could at least pull his hair over his face.

 “No. He arrived saying he’s come to warn Viktor about something. Care to shed any light?” The serpent went on.

“I have no more information than what I’ve already told you. Yaakov wants Viktor.” Altin said.

This time, Yuri interjected. “I  _know_  why.” He said, voice cracking. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you since I got here.”

Yuri spared him a momentary glance then ignored him again.

“Is there anything else you can tell me about him?”

 “Other than I’ve met him in person before, no.”

Yuri had been looking around the room, checking on Viktor every so often, who was looking out of a window. At this however, his eyes rushed back to the computer on the desk.

“I thought you only dealt with Yaakov?” The Serpent asked curiously.

“I do.” Altin replied perhaps a little more flatly than usual. “Yuri was playing errand boy one day and we crossed paths.”

 “Is that all?”

“That’s all.”

 _Errand boy?_ _Asshole_.

“Thank you Altin.”

The serpent closed the laptop and finally turned his sharp eyes on Yuri.

“You may speak.”

The last week or so had been a hard one, and Yuri could only contain his natural reactions to a point. He simply didn’t have enough energy left _not_ to roll his eyes. Eye.

“Thank you, finally. The reason I’m here is to find Viktor.” He said, his usual note of permanent irritation leaking through.

“Why?” Viktor asked, deadpan. Yuri seized on the fact that Viktor was finally speaking to him.

“Because Yaakov wants you back.” Yuri he told him, enunciating his words as clearly as he could.

Viktor sighed. “We knew that already. What I think is this; Yaakov failed with Jakub and got impatient. He sent you to spy and tie me up in a neat little bow to take me back home.”

“ _No_.” Yuri spat vehemently. He hadn’t left the organisation, come all this way, given up everything, just for Viktor to call him a traitor. “No, I’m here because I wanted to _warn_ you.”

“Your warning is useless obviously.” The serpent interjected. “Yaakov is not subtle.”

Yuri shook his head slightly. “And do you know  _why_  then? Why he would bother coming back for something he threw away?” When silence met his exclamation he sucked in a breathe and went on. “He said this to me. ‘ _I don’t like it when strangers touch what’s mine._ ’”

It was a lie, because Yaakov had said no such thing. But he knew it was a truth in other ways.

Viktor huffed a short laugh. “You must be lying, because that makes no sense.”

“He didn’t care when you were working as a mercenary, he didn’t mind because you stayed down, you were ashamed and everyone knew it, even if they didn’t know why. He always liked showing you off, Viktor, you know this. You weren’t as satisfying as a reject, but you were an example. Of his power, of how he could any man fall and live with the shame.” Yuri spoke aloud the thoughts he had been cogitating over since Otabek had given him the information. He put all the pieces of disconnected information together and no that he spoke them aloud, they rang true.

He forced himself to go on, feeling like he should be careful, but also feeling like caution was for people who were better fed and rested than he was at that point.  “But when he heard that you were working for the Serpent…Viktor it was a mistake. He will come for you know, and finish the job. He will kill you this time, for thinking you have any pride left. You should have stayed under the snow, Viktor!” He couldn’t help the desperation in his voice, the honesty of his true feelings on the matter coming through.

He didn’t want Viktor to die. Not when he had just come back to life.

But Viktor was unmoved. If anything, he was even more distant than before, looking at Yuri with cold astonishment.

“Stayed under the snow?” he repeated quietly. “He wanted me to die slowly where he left me?”

“Viktor…” Yuri appealed, his words becoming jumbled now, all the things he was needing to say confusing themselves. “It  _wasn’t me_ , I didn’t tell him. I saw you, but I ran and –“

“Enough.” The Serpent said and Yuri stopped, mostly because he knew there was nothing more he could say then. The dark haired man stood slowly, moving around his desk and going to stand before the kneeling man, his perfectly tailored suit creasing.

“Viktor did not die, is not dead, and will continue in my service. He is no longer Yaakov’s, he is  _mine_. And I  _look after_  my own.”

Yuri saw the man meant it, but he still couldn’t understand it. People like him and Viktor weren’t cared for, they were owned.

“You?” he growled. “You’re like all of them, all of the elite criminal who decide what is left and what is what is right. When we disappoint you, if we hurt your pride, we don’t matter anymore.” His eyes flashed to Viktor, “And when you discover how Viktor shamed Yaakov, you will do the same!”

The slap that came this time almost knocked Yuri off his feet.

“That is not the way of the Katsuki, not while I am the Serpent’s head.”

 

-8-

Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, Yuri found himself not being killed.

It was a nice thought, and he would enjoy it more if his body didn’t hurt so much. He felt like shit, in mind and body. His entire being ached, and he dimly noticed his skin was hot to the touch. The cuts weren’t healing, in fact the skin around then was too tender even to touch. But when He had been unbound. Led out and folded into the passenger seat of a small blue fiat, he hadn’t questioned it. When Viktor had slid into the driver’s seat, he counted his blessings.

Apparently, Otabek was coming for him. The thought was as much relief as he could allow himself right then, because of all people, he didn’t want to appear weak in front of Viktor. Viktor who had been his older brother, his teacher, his best friend. Viktor who was dead and was now alive.

And that would have to be enough.

He dug the cigarettes out for his jacket with fumbling fingers, knowing they were a small solace but it was something at least. As they waited at a predesignated drop-off point, silent, Yuri just focussed on the drag of the cig, the filling of his lungs with good old fashioned toxicity.

It surprised Yuri, when Viktor spoke.

It was stupid talk, casual and nonsensical. The smallest, unseen movements towards connection, like the regrowth of roots. It was ridiculous how easily they fell into it again. But Yuri had to say the thing he had come all this way for, the thing he had a whole new set of scars for.

 

“Before he comes to whisk me away,” Yuri said bitterly, waving a hand in a deliberately over dramatized gesture, “can I please say what you’ve been ignoring since I arrived?”

Viktor didn’t react, the only movement was the breeze toying with his hair. Yuri took it as acquiescence.

“It wasn’t me.” Yuri said emphatically. He knew that it was him who needed the assurance, not Viktor. He needed to know Viktor knew it and forgave him.

Viktor let his face reveal his hurt, and it pierced Yuri. “You saw, and you ran. And then they came for me.”

Yuri tried to get into Viktor line of sight, his entire body vivid and tense. “Yes, that happened, but it...it’s not that simple.” Yuri rubbed at his face carefully avoiding the swollen eyes and new bruises. “When I ran, I wasn’t going anywhere, I was just…shocked and I didn’t know what to do… and Timur was there, he had come after, I don’t know why. But I ran into him and it was...Viktor he knew. I think he had been watching you and he asked me if you were with that American with the green eyes and I didn’t say ‘no’, and he _knew_.”

 _I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to be the reason you had to go_.

 “Alright, Yuri. Alright.” Viktor said, with a small shrug.

Yuri needed the words. “Do you believe me?”

“Yes, I believe you.” Viktor replied.

“Then…” Yuri said, still searching his face. “Why won’t you look at me?”

Then Viktor admitted it, with words he couldn’t know would cut so deep. “I don’t know what to do with you, Kitten.”

Yuri fell back against the car with a thump. “I…ok.”

 

 “Yaakov told me you betrayed me. That you thought I was less than dirt, after what you saw.”

 

Yuri smacked a fist not the car door, unable to express the flood of emotions in him adequately with a less than able body then. “No, that’s not true Viktor. It’s not. After everything you did for me, after everything you were...” Yuri’s throat closed.

Yaakov had done more than kill Viktor. He had destroyed their friendship.

“Yuri, what did Yaakov tell you?” Viktor asked quietly.

“He told me you were a filthy traitor for wanting men. He apologised for leaving me with you for so long and asked me…if anything…” Yuri trailed off, lacking energy for more.

Yuri didn’t finish the sentence and Viktor was glad for it. “I’m sorry.”

Yuri could only shrug.

“I hope…” Viktor hesitated, then sighed out his regret. “Ai, kitten, I’m sorry. He broke me, and I couldn’t know to come for you.”

Yuri flashed him an angry glare. “I didn’t expect you to. I’m not a child.”

Viktor almost smiled. “Of course not. And clearly you are stronger than I am, because you left now, yes?”

Yuri grunted, flicking the ash from his stick carelessly. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t go back now.” he didn’t intend to in the least.

“Altin will look after you.”

Fucking Altin. Oh yes, Yuri had to be his own man before he could even think of kissing the man again, but didn’t Otabek just love playing hero? Yuri knew he was being unreasonable, but so was life.

“Oh really, kitten?” to Yuri’s shock, Viktor was actually giving him a look that spoke too many volumes.

“Shut up.” Yuri growled, completely mortified, at sea of what to do with this Viktor, who looked on his…whatever… with Otabek and just _knew_.

Viktor continued to needle with big brother playfulness and eventually Yuri broke a little, unwilling to share more than the obvious.

 

 “Otabek…I’m not sure. I’m still trying to figure it out. And I couldn’t do anything with Yaakov looking over my shoulder. He was already suspicious, because I haven’t had any women.”

 

Viktor silenced, and Yuri glanced at his thoughtful face, silver eyebrows frowning.

“Yuri…I wish you could have told me.”

Yuri shook his head, the lump in his throat back. “I never could have.”

“I know. How long?”

Yuri exhaled a large, smelly cloud of smoke. “I don’t think I knew until you were gone.”

There was a companionable pause then, both understanding that they were no longer the same men, and Yuri suddenly had a much more definite notion of just how very _big_ the world was. No longer under the will of someone else.

“Well, if you need any help in that direction, just call.” Viktor offered with a smile.

Mortification back afresh, Yuri didn’t reply.

 “Has he kissed you?” Viktor went on, a little too delighted.

“No! I kissed him!” Yuri shit back then immediately regretted it because he hadn’t intended to say that at all.

 “Good for you. Some men are too slow. Otabek looks like the type to stew in his thoughts until he becomes stone rather than act of them.” Viktor said, still grinning like a fool.

Yuri asked about his new employer, and Viktor assured him he was happy. He vaguely heard Viktor saying he should return sometime, when a sleek black Porsche came up the hill them and parked a short distance away. Otabek got out of the driver’s side himself, and the sight of him was like a cool wind on his heated skin.

He heard Viktor voice in his ear. “Got get him, Kitten.”

Crushing his cigarette, Yuri decided that it was too soon to deck his former teacher, now maybe friend once more, and walked away without a farewell.

“You’re filthy.” Otabek said as he came near. “And you stink.”

“You trying being locked up in a grey cell for three days and come out squeaky clean and smelling of roses.” Yuri snapped back as he walked around the car and got in.

As soon as he slid into the leather seat, he winced, the crazy boy had left some sort of picture on his back for fun. He eased back carefully. Otabek, now in and gunning the engine, braked then looked at Yuri.

“What is it?” he asked.

Yuri was ready to snap back at him with something like; “well, torture isn’t for everyone.” But seeing the man’s face close, glasses lifted away to look at him properly made the words die in his throat

Instead, for the first time in five days, Yuri relaxed. And with that relaxation came everything else.

“I think….” He said, hearing his voice as whisper.

Otabek’s normally impassive face broke and showed worry. “Yuri…?”

His chest hurt. It _hurt_. His body ached and burned hot under his collar. The small hairs at his neck stuck to the skin. And Viktor was alive but he was _gone gone gone_ …

“I think, I’m not ok.” He said, before letting the black creep in at the edges of his vision, and given himself over.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will have some fluff I PROMISE, because even I cannot take this anymore. And I planned for this to happen. I'm evil. Sorry Yuri. Sorry Otabek.


	12. 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more things happen. In a hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this I wrote almost immediately on the heels of the last one because I felt so shit about it. And I needed this too.

_The doctor was speaking to his mother, while Aizada messed about suspiciously in the cabinet under the bed on which he sat._

_“Aiza,” he chided her, “stop that. These aren’t your things.”_

_In all her younger sisterly wisdom, Aizada looked up at him, wide grey eyes unashamed, and stuck her tongue out. Otabek shifted uncomfortably, knowing she wouldn’t listen to him but mama was busy._

_“It’s nothing untreatable, it will simply take some self-control and maybe some therapy.” The doctor was saying in that quiet tone that adults use when they don’t want children to hear them. Which obviously only made Otabek hear is clearer._

_“Therapy?” his mother replied, scandalised. “He’s ten years old. What on earth can he have to be anxious about?”_

_“Many things can affect children, it’s not really about his age…” the doctor went on, taken aback by her unsympathetic answer._

_“No.” she said firmly. “This is a simple thing. We will deal with it ourselves. Thank you doctor.”_

_Aizada stood at just the right moment to make it seem that she hadn’t been getting her fingers into places they didn’t belong, using her still innocent face to punt the look. Otabek slid off the bed, glancing anxiously between his mother and the doctor._

_“Say goodbye, children.” Their mother said, her broad face stern._

_“Goodbye doctor.” The two children said in tandem and followed their mother out._

_On the drive home, his mother clenched the steering wheel a little too hard, and the permanent wrinkle between her eyebrows was more pronounced._

_“Mama?” Otabek asked tentatively, unsure about what was said or if he had done something wrong._

_“Beka.” She spoke without taking her eyes from the road. “You must stop scratching.”_

_“But it itches, mama.” He appealed quietly. Even now, his hand drifted to the exposed flesh of his arm, already red and scabbed with old scars. She reached over and slapped his hand away._

_“It doesn’t itch.” She said, her words clipped and hard. “It’s your imagination. There is nothing there.”_

_The prickling was so strong now it hurt. “Mama…”_

_“Every time I see you scratch, I will cut you on your leg. That way, the pain will outweigh the itch. Is that what you want?”_

_Otabek heard his sisters idle humming from the back seat stop. The only sound in the car now was the steady hum of the engine. His mother’s face was still in profile, stern and unrelenting._

_“No, mama.” He said softly, staring at her, wishing and hoping she was lying._

_“Good. If you are to take over from you father one day, you can’t be scratching yourself to pieces whenever you get a little worried. It’s ridiculous. You’re old enough. Curb the impulse, learn restraint, or I will have to teach you.”_

Otabek, even at ten years old, was a quick learner. But not quick or clever enough to avoid gaining some scars on his legs. Always in the soft skin on the back of his knees, or just under his ankle bone; places easily hidden.

 

-8-

 

It was a six and a half hour flight to the Philippines, where Otabek had a suite on permanent hold for him in New Manila. He managed to half carry, half drag Yuri onto the jet before letting him roll onto the floor where he lay like a corpse. Otabek would have believe him dead already if he wasn’t so damn hot to the touch. He spent a moment unable to look away until Sezim came up behind him.

“Get us there fast.” He told the man briefly, then got up to find the on board first aid kit. He couldn’t do much more than clean the blood away, but it was something. He touched the proud, red skin over Yuri’s eye and it earned him a reaction.

“Fuuuuuuuuck.” Yuri managed in a minute, cracked voice.

“Sorry. I think it’s infected.”

“No shit.” Yuri said on an exhale, like the word cost him too much energy.

“Take this.” Otabek said calmly, pushing two capsules between Yuri’s lips, then offering a glass of water. Yuri swallowed it eagerly, then coughed, spilling most of the liquid on himself and the floor.

“What was it?”

“Painkillers. Should help with the fever too.” Otabek replied, taking the glass out of harm’s way and starting to clean the caked, flaking blood from Yuri’s neck with a cloth.

Yuri moaned, but it was a sick sound, the kind of thing he’d heard from dying men.

“Rest. And don’t die.” He told the blond with very little inflection.

“thanks.” Yuri whispered. “I’ll do just that.”

He watched as Yuri’s chest continued its uneven rise and fall, but assessed the man to be asleep after a few minutes. Then he got up from the floor where he was kneeling, reversed into a seat, face pressed against his fists.

On his arms, the prickling continued.

-8-

 Yuri woke up to the sound of humming.

It was pleasant, a decent enough voice, and soft. The tune made no real sense but it lilted nicely enough to draw Yuri slowly into wakefulness before he realised what an odd thing it was for him to hear. At all.

Instantly his body seized in panic. As he tried to roll off the bed he was lying in, his body screamed at him to lie still, his head lurched and what needed up happening was his dry heaving over the side of the bed. There was nothing in his stomach, so it ended up being some bile and gag.

 As he wiped the tears from his eyes, he became aware of some patting on his back. His jerked away, even though it hurt. Coming face to face with his attacker stopped him though.

A woman, dark shoulder length hair, and very familiar grey eyes. But unlike Otabek, she smiled, so brightly Yuri blinked.

“Not a great wake up, as wake ups go.” She said. “Can we get you back into the bed? You’re pulling out the drip.”

Adrenaline warred with the dregs of sleep still in his head, making his movements jerky. Still, the woman waited until he had found his equilibrium before offering a hand and an encouraging smile. Cautiously, he took it and she helped him manoeuvre awkwardly back into the bed, which was interesting because she was right; the drip leading into his wrist had tangled in his elbow somehow, and one leg was out of the bed but the other was still tied to the sheets. 

He felt like he was weighed down with stones, and his from fell gratefully back into the soft mattress. But he took in the room, making note of the exit routes (one door, one window, breakable) the obstacles on the way to them, and assessing the strength of the grey eyed woman. It was no hospital room at least; the décor was clearly domestic. He was in someone’s home.

“I’m Aizada.” She told him, patting his arm and readjusting the drip.

Yuri said nothing, but watched her keenly. She glanced at him curiously, then shook her head with a small smile. “He said you would be skittish.”

 _Skittish? Fuck that_. But he jumped when Aizada went over to the door and yelled at the very top of lungs, suddenly much less the fragile female.

“Beka? He’s awake!” she came back to his bedside. “Water?” she offered as if she hadn’t just roared out of the doorway.

He was desperately thirsty, but he eyed the water suspiciously, shaking his head. The doorway darkened and his eyes were drawn to the shadow.

“He thinks I’m going to poison him.” Aizada complained, putting her hand on her hips.

“He has good reason to be cautious.” Otabek replied coming into the room and taking the glass from him. “Leave us, Aiza.”

“You’re joking.” She said flatly. Her English was as clipped an educated as Otabek’s, with only a hint of accent to it. “You never bring anyone here, now I can’t make friends?”

“You can make friends later.”

There was a brief stare down, and Yuri’s watched them with small astonishment; Otabek had a sister. The same grey eyes the same dark hair and skin, but the personality…oh ho, so different. Where Otabek held himself with impeccable control, Aizada was all expression, and right then she was aggravated, pouting up at her brother. Eventually she sighed, muttered something evil sounding in Kasack, and threw her hands in the air.

“Fine. But I’ll be back.” This last she said to Yuri, who was still feeling so stunned he didn’t react at all.

Otabek waited for the door to close, then directed his attention back to Yuri. Just the simple fact that he was there, with Otabek, made the unfamiliarity of his surroundings lose their edge.

He trusted Otabek.

“Where am I?” Yuri tried to ask, but the words crumbled, like gravel in his mouth. Otabek offered him the water, and after a moment’s hesitation, Yuri took it.

“Slowly.” Otabek said. Yuri managed to convey with a very expressive eye movement that said he wasn’t an idiot. He knew he was dehydrated, and drinking too quickly would only make him feel worse, and likely bring it up. He could feel his tissues crying out for fluid, but he forced himself to go slow.

Otabek pulled a seat close and sat. It wasn’t lost on Yuri how very similar the scene was just then, except this time Otabek was the one in the chair. They kept circling each other, didn’t they? What was that about the gyre pulling all things inevitably to its centre?

“You’ve been ill. Luckily the infection you contracted was not too severe, and I got you here in time. You’ve been on a steady drip for two days. If you hadn’t woken up, we would have had to intubate you for the sake of nutrition. Other than that, you had a fair amount of cuts on your person that needed attention. Aizada tells me nothing is broken, however, so that’s something to be glad of.”

 _Fuck. Two days_. Yuri could just imagine just how badly his body had been messed up for him to be out cold for that long.

“Aizada is an experienced nurse, and I brought her here to care for you. The hospital she works at isn’t far-“

“Where is here?” Yuri butt in, voice still sounding like something scratched, but clearer now.

“Ah.” Otabek paused, mouth opened slightly, verging on decision. “Well, you are in Manila. Philippines.”

Yuri’s gaped. Otabek, amazingly, seemed uncomfortable.

“You’re currently resting in my hotel suite.”

“Yours?” Yuri latched onto one piece of information t a time. Otabek nodded.

“Not my hotel, but my room. I have it on permanent retainer, as I do a fair amount of business here. It was the closest, safest place I could bring you when…”

Yuri saw Otabek’s hands drift and hover over his forearm, and then place itself resolutely on the chair arm, as if completely independent of its owner.

Yuri rested back in the pillows, searching for words but unable to find any. He filled his mouth with water instead, letting the tissues absorb the water. His lips were cracked too, so he licked them probingly. Fuck, he was a sight.

“The drip is antibiotics. Unless you have some objection, Aizada will care for you while you’re recovering…”

“Beka.”

Otabek’s words stumbled to a halt and the two men shared a look that was equal parts astonishment and amusement.

“You have a sister.” Yuri said eventually, drinking in this new reality of Otabek, human and fallible.

Otabek appeared to think for a time before he answered. “I…yes. I have a younger sister. I wouldn’t have trusted anyone else with your care, as I couldn’t care for you myself.”

Yuri sat, feeling something akin to shock, but this was warmer and not as damaging. In the silence, Otabek leaned forward, hand held out and let the cat brooch slip into Yuri’s lap.

Did it count as a gyre if the objects being pulled were connected by a single thing? If both of them refused to let go of the string that wound ever tightening around them?

“You still need to rest.” Otabek said quietly, getting up and Yuri knew an escape when he saw one, even if it was bizarre to see it on Otabek Altin.

Before he vanished Yuri choked out, “thank you.”

Otabek paused on the threshold, then let his momentum take him away.

 

-8-

 

Yuri fell into fitful sleep, constantly waking and sinking once more, going through the same reactions of shock, fear surprise and relief. When he woke in the small hours, the scene outside his window dark, he was alone and in the strange semi-lucid place between sleep and wakefulness. It was the perfect mental space to catalogues ones losses, and swim through the murky waters of his emotions.

His fingers stroked over the bumps and ridges of the cat as he pondered. He’d never had a pet, and the dog he’s given Viktor as a joke didn’t count. It was always more Viktor’s than his. Yuri suspected he wasn’t a dog person. Assuming Viktor wasn’t either had backfired, and when Viktor had gone taking the animal with him, the apartment had felt far too big.

No, he would probably want a cat. He wondered if he would ever get the chance to own one.

Viktor was gone. That mush was clear. He was deeply entrenched in the Katsuki organisation, as was obvious by the way he deferred without hesitation to their head. Yuri still didn’t understand it, so he hated it, thinking that Viktor was merely falling into the same pattern with this new boss and he had with the old one, but going there had done nothing, solved nothing. He had only come away with more hurt.

Maybe he would see Viktor again, but as of that moment, he felt untethered, aimlessly floating in too big a space. Something tickled against his cheek and he lifted a hand to it, only to find the fingers coming away wet and clear. He blinked. Was he crying?

And then there was the cat. The cat that was the only connection he had left in the world that wasn’t out to hurt him. Otabek hadn’t come to visit him again since that first day that he knew of, not in his waking moments at least. He had vague memories of those ties, of drinking and taking medication and sleeping, so he wondered if he would remembered even if Otabek had come.

This was the first night he was truly awake. His gaze drifted to the buzzer hanging from his bed post, in case he needed urgent care. But he didn’t touch it.

No, his past and things thereof were done. Stale things, disconnected and pointless to him now.  He thought about what he wanted now, what he felt sure about _now_.

Fingernails caught on the ridges, making a small almost unheard ‘ting’.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow was another day.

 

-8-

 

Otabek was awake. He didn’t need as much sleep as others, he found. Four to five hours was enough, his whirring brain wouldn’t allow more. Feeling like the only thing alive in a sleeping, silent world. And in the vacuum it created, crept in thoughts on the blonde sleeping in his bedroom.

As he dialled for room service, thinking that if he was awake he should at least have coffee available. He set the receiver down after ordering and went to his laptop, which lay open and glaring its bright light. He didn’t want to work, not really, but he was used to being productive and not being so was uncomfortable. After scrolling through some emails his thoughts drifted.

Why couldn’t he leave him alone?

Otabek Altin was not partial to attachments. Apart from his sister and aging mother, there was little in the world he felt he couldn’t do without. Brazilian coffee, Olympic Games, first edition books. Most things were transient and expendable, and it included people. It was arrogance, or pride, or even a lack of respect for human life. People were simply a means to an end. It was his business to manipulate and exploit the baser needs of humans for his benefit and profit. It wasn’t personal. And when it came to partners, he had simply never even considered the idea of someone set apart, someone who set themselves apart, in his eyes.

He was aware that people tried. There was Antonio, in Milan who never failed to track him down when he had business there. He tolerated the man, offered him no particular cruelty apart from his complete disregard for him. Still he pressed, insisting that Otabek needed only to see, to spend enough time with him. And there was Camilla, in Buenos Aires, though she had given up far quicker. Otabek did not seek to hurt, but he couldn’t help the ideals of others, to see him as something he was not.

And then there was Yuri Plisetsky, all hiss and scratch until he wasn’t. Until he was soft and plaint, his presence stroking against Otabek’s nerves ever more so with his current proximity. Sleeping in his bed, traveling in his plane…no matter how many times Otabek parted himself from the man he was always drawn back, the invisible string of their connection strengthening with each meeting. In spite of his resolution to leave and let live, he couldn’t cut the ties.

He wanted to be near Yuri Plisetsky. He hoped it was some ‘fucked up daddy-complex.’

But was wanting to taste him again a daddy complex? Because if it was there was something wrong with him.

Yuri’s faulted observations aside, he didn’t see Yuri that way. He didn’t look down on him, from a viewpoint of superiority or eldership, as if simply by virtue of his age he was better and wiser. There was absolutely nothing about Yuri Plisetsky that asked for solicitude or demanded pity. The blonde man, raised in an aggressively heteronormative environment had still found enough spite within himself to grow his hair longer than most women, which was essentially like giving a middle finger to everyone who challenged his sexuality or his criminal ability.

No, Yuri was definitely not childlike in the least to Otabek’s eyes. If anything, Yuri was the stronger between them. Maybe that was why his admiration was so confused with his desire. He…needed to be near him, to watch him, to experience him the way someone might experience fireworks and flame, in awe of explosive beauty.

Seeing Yuri Plisetsky drawn out, bloody and near death had shaken Otabek far more than he expected. Otabek did not habitually get his hands dirty, apart from metaphorically. He didn’t generally deal with gore and fluids. He was precise, he was immaculate and contained. The pain of theirs was separate from him and not his doing. But Yuri…he had drawn from his limited experience in the care of wounds to clean the man, then gratefully handed into Aizada’s care, grateful that he had a sister who knew such things. Of course, someone less mouthy wouldn’t be pestering him with awkward questions… he withheld his reactions until he was alone. But in the privacy of the en suite, his hands shook until he clutched the counter ledge, letting the edges dig into his skin until he could convince himself he would tear his arms open.

Yuri as a weak thing…reality shifted. And once again, he was overwhelmed with the need to be near Yuri Plisetsky. Nothing else, just…to be near.

A soft chime at the door startled him, and he realised he’d stopped actually reading what was in front of him and gotten lost in thought again. He went to answer the call, before they rang again and disturb the others.

Since the living room was currently his homes and sleeping place, he was already barefoot, shirt untucked and tie draped negligently over his shoulders. Aizada had taken the guest room and Yuri had the master, and even with the doors closed they might wake. He took the silver tray with its matching coffee service from the waiter, and after slipping him a generous tip for delivering at 4AM in the morning, shut the door with his hip. He had taken a couple of steps when he slowed again.

Yuri stood there, leaning heavily against the doorframe, blinking back sleep and looking about to collapse. Otabek nearly dropped the tray.

“Yuri.” He said quietly, still wary of Aizada but setting the tray down on the coffee table in the centre of the room and moving directly to Yuri’s side. To his surprise, he didn’t have to think about here to put his hands, because Yuri solved the problem by grabbing his shirt and glowering up at him.

“I need a smoke.” Yuri growled. “And your sister has hidden my things.”

Otabek found his composure after a brief hesitation, and with a soft chuckle he levered one arm over his shoulder and helped Yuri’s slow progress to the kitchen island. After depositing him into a chair, he went to fetch the required contraband from on top of the fridge and handed it to Yuri, but stopped him when the immediately started opening it.

With a glare that could melt steel, Yuri said; “what?”

Otabek pointed at the ceiling. “It’s a hotel. Smoke alarms don’t sleep.”

“Does this place have a balcony?”

Considering it was on the rooftop, is had an entire garden, and Otabek helped Yuri once again hobble out into it. The blonde hair was in complete disarray, and he wore only the plain white shirt and boxers Otabek had found for him to wear while he recovered. It was late summer in Manila and the heated breeze drifted over his skin and played with the hair that peeked over Yuri’s collar, since he had obviously only just through on the shirt.

Otabek realised he was staring and looked away, focussing on the undying skyline. Yuri slumped against the balcony railing a few paces away, hands struggling to light the cigarette hanging from his mouth. Eventually, the spark caught and he sucked in hard, making the cheery brighter, before blowing out a cloud of smoke.

“fuck.” He muttered, seemingly t himself.

“How do you feel?” Otabek asked, coming to lean on the railing beside him, looking down below at the few insectile cars on the street fifteen floors below.

“Like shit.” Yuri replied, honest and blunt. Otabek smiled.

“Shit like the medication isn’t working or shit like normal recovery process?”

Yuri waved a hand, trailing smoke that was whipped away by the breeze. “The second one.”

Suddenly Yuri leaned backwards, his head going right over the edge as he cared his neck to the sky. The silky hair in his collar slipped out and swung down, impossibly long. His face was a mask of bliss as he stretched every possible sinew and drew in the clean air around them. Otabek stared.

Like fireworks. All explosion and beauty.

 Then Yuri’s eyes opened and slid under his eyelids and _saw_ him staring. Yuri came back up slowly, watching, limber as a cat.

“Thank you.”

Otabek actively forced his neck to turn his head away. “You’ve said that already. It’s unnecessary.”

“You said you intended to leave me to my own devices.” Yuri told him. “I didn’t expect to see you again unless I tracked you down.”

“It seems like I was drawn into your trouble. It wasn’t my intention.” He answered, threading his fingers together loosely. It was anything but a sign of relaxation. It a calculated gesture, one of many he had memorised and perfected in his early youth.

“But you chose to ‘rescue me’.” Yuri said, a touch bitterly.

Otabek felt that he could risk a little levity. “Did I step all over your self-affirmation? I apologise, I didn’t realise you wanted to die of infection in Hasetsu.”

He wasn’t sure actually, whether Katsuki would have let him die, or Viktor for that matter, but he hadn’t been brave enough to leave it to chance.

“Smart ass.”  Yuri said, drawing again on the cigarette.

“You would know best.”

A brief pause in which Otabek didn’t know if the barbs were put away or not. Then;

“Anyway. Thank you.” Yuri said. “I’m…glad.”

Otabek frowned a little. “Glad?”

“Yes.” Yuri replied, stubbing the already finished stick out on the ground and lighting another immediately. “God, this is so good.”

“Aizada will be annoyed.” Otabek warned him without any real bite.

“She can kiss my lily white butt.” Yuri replied, then shot him a sly look. “Beka.”

Otabek sighed. “Please don’t.”

Yuri chuckled. “Why not? It’s cute.”

Otabek turned to face him, feeling irritable. Here was Yuri, with gold hair and wearing his clothes and grinning and _calling him Beka_. “I’m going inside. Don’t leave your litter out here.”

He pushed off the railing but Yuri caught his arm, looking vaguely penitent. “Come on, Beka, I like it. I’m not teasing. Much.”

Otabek told himself it was because the hold on his arm was so uncharacteristically weak, that Yuri was still too weak to come in without collapsing that he stayed, but stay he did. He yielded to the pull and found himself back to his place at the railing, but there was less distance between them this time.

“Anyway.” Yuri said, voice softer now, and the cigarette hanging from his fingers. “I’m glad.”

“So you said.”

“Because,” Yuri went on ignoring Otabek’s lessened enthusiasm. “I didn’t want to die. And I wanted to see you again.”

Otabek felt a sort of rising tightness in his chest, but said nothing.

“Beka. Otabek.” Yuri nudged.

Against his better judgement, he turned towards Yuri then, willing himself to be stern, but Yuri’s mouth was on his before he could complete the movement. He tasted of fresh smoke and nicotine and heat, and Otabek’s rationale fell off the edge to the depths below.

Turning his whole self towards the smaller man, he wrapped arms around his waist, both caging and supporting him, taking his fill of the kiss. As much as he wanted to deepen it, he kept on the back foot, still fearful that he would force his experience onto Yuri in the worst way, that he would forget himself. But Yuri didn’t share his worries at all, pulling Otabek closer roughly, fisting a hand in his shirt and taking full advantage of Otabek’s willingness.

Otabek tried to pull away for breath if nothing else. “Yuri…”

“If you’re going to give me the ‘be your own man’ speech, don’t.” Yuri told him, his words falling directly into Otabek’s mouth. “Because I am. You don’t owe or own me, and I don’t owe or own you, right?”

It wasn’t so simple, Otabek knew it in theory. But the facts of it were scattered things in that moment, and he couldn’t think beyond the fact of wanting to kiss this man again and again.

Yuri spared him the indecision and kissed him again, taking charge as was his way. Otabek yielded to him, as he was coming to realise he always did. Because Yuri Plisetsky was the exception to the rule. To all the rules.

Giving in to his instinct, he pulled Yuri closer, fixing his head with his heads and urging himself closer, for be nearer. The press of lips wasn’t enough, the slide of tongues wasn’t enough, not this time.

He became aware that Yuri was pressing into his side painfully and he pulled away confused. Then he saw the tightness in Yuri’s face.

“Not that I’m not flattered.” Yuri gritted out. “But I still have stiches.”

Otabek was instantly horrified with himself. He jerked himself back, but kept his arm around Yuri’s waist.

“Let’s get inside.”

“Great, I need a coffee.” Yuri replied.

Otabek helped Yuri onto the couch, where he folded quietly, looking a little pale and warn. Otabek chided himself harshly. He was always losing control around this man, and always in the times when it was the most damaging to do so. He set to pouring coffee, filling two of the three cups and passing one over to Yuri without looking at him. He made his own and went to sit at the opposite couch, putting distance and coffee table between them, rubbing unhappily at his arm.

Yuri gave an enormous sigh. “Beka.”

Otabek looked up to meet Yuri’s familiar looked of annoyance. “Come here.”

Otabek’s arms prickled painfully. “I think that is unwise.”

“What’s ‘unwise’ is making me come over there right now.”

When the stare down between them resulted in nothing, Yuri started shifting as if to move and Otabek gave in, standing and coming round, but seating himself as far away from Yuri as possible. Yuri rolled his eyes, set his cup down, and scooted over. Otabek sat in mute astonishment as Yuri laboriously swung first one leg then the other over his lap, trapping him.

“This is stupid.” Otabek managed.

“You’re stupid.”

Well, that was true, at least.

Yuri flicked a finger against his temple to jerk him back to the moment. “Stop being an idiot. Give me your arm.”

Feeling more and more adrift, he instinctively curled his arms downwards and away. “I don’t think so.”

Yuri met his eyes. The look was unexpectedly gentle, but raw in the manner of Yuri Plisetsky. “I won’t hurt you Otabek. Trust me.”

It was too late for this, for any of this, but there was a small snap inside Otabek’s chest and he let Yuri take his bare arm, and turn it over. He looked away, focussing on the edge of his coffee cup, the curl of steam over its rim.

“Is it itching right now?” he heard Yuri ask quietly.

Otabek nodded. “Painfully so, at present.”

“Because of me?”

 _Because you’re here, because you’re touching me, because I can’t say no to you even when you’re not asking for anything_. _Because all I have is my control and around you I have nothing_.

“Because of many things.” Otabek settled on answering.

Yuri hands were warm and gentle as they held his arm, but didn’t touch the skin. It felt like it was burning in a spotlight, but he didn’t remove it from the man’s grip.

“You should be more honest with me.” Yuri said eventually, and Otabek felt his head come to lean against his shoulder. H risked a look at the top of the man’s head, suddenly aware that Yuri was so very _there_.

“Honesty does not come easily to men like us.” He said.

Yuri shifted a little at that. Then he laid a wide, warm palm flat on the oversensitive skin, holding it firmly. “Here is honesty: I may not have my shit together, I’m still learning how to exist in the bigger pond you helped me escape into, and most of my hopeful little daydreams have been shattered. But I’m here, and I’m glad I’m here with you.”

Yuri met his eyes briefly then looked away, hair swinging to cover his face. “I know you look at me and think I can’t know what I want…and you’re right. I thought about what you said and you’re an asshole but you’re right. But still, there’s you and there’s me….and I still like kissing you.”

Otabek had no pre-learned reactions, or carefully composed answers for this. Yuri didn’t seem to mind his silence.

“Obviously, you like kissing me too. But if you don’t think you want to do that…because of this,” he squeezed Otabek’s arm for emphasis. “Then ok. Just this is enough. Just being here.”

 _Being near_.

Otabek sighed out, shuddering slightly. “Alright.”

Yuri glanced at him sidelong. “Alright?”

“Alright.”

Yuri seemed to find this satisfying enough, because he nodded and let go of Otabek’s arm.

“Great. Can we watch some TV then? I’ve never seen master chef and I always wondered what the big deal was.”

Otabek responded by turning the wide screen on, and they settled against each other on the couch, at ease with the physical proximity. It was only fifteen minutes later that Otabek realised his arms had ceased their demonic itching.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave Otabek a sister! She will feature again. 
> 
> I hope this healed some wounds ya'll.  
> Come say Hi on my tumblr, if you have any questions or whatever really :)
> 
> https://micaelavdb.tumblr.com/
> 
> Reblogs help too :)


	13. 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri goes shopping.  
> Otabek gets triggered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of a domestic filler chapter. TBH i'm not where to go from here. Welcome to the madness has ruined me completely.

“Stop hiding my cigarettes.” Yuri complained as he fished his pack out of the back of the cutlery drawer for the third time that day.

“It’s my job as a healthcare professional to prevent you from harming yourself.” Aizada answered from across the kitchen island, chewing on a sandwich and grinning.

“You don’t give a shit about my smoking, so stop lying about it.” Yuri said as he walked around and past her to the balcony.

“Of course I care.” She called after him, but he had already gone outside into bright daylight.

Yuri went to lean against the railing again, squinting hard against the sunlight, he realised he would need sunglasses, since he’d left his own in Russia. Unlike night-time, the day almost unbearably hot. If he was indoors, the air-con made things comfortable, but after less than a minute outside he was already sweating, the heat making his healing cuts itch horribly. His only relief was nicotine and tobacco, and here Aiza was, hassling him about it.

She came up beside him, mouth still full and chewing. He glared at her briefly, which slid off her without even a flinch.  Yuri let it go, used to her lacking sense of personal space by now, nearly two weeks after arriving there. Similar to her brother, she never bat an eye at his caustic personality, but unlike her brother she was a nosy shit and didn’t care if he didn’t feel like company.

“As I was saying,” she told him with a full mouth, “I do care about your health.”

Yuri rolled his eyes at the sky. “Just because we’ve been stuck in the same space for two weeks does not make us friends. And I like I’ve said about fifty times so far, I’m fine. You can stop playing nurse. Shoo fly.”

“I mean, obviously I care because I’m your nurse and you’re my patient.” She went on taking another bite. “And no, you’re not completely better yet by the way. I still have to take out the last of the stitches, your welcome very much.”

“I can take out my own stiches.” Yuri said. And he had, before.

“But I also care because, like you say, it’s been two weeks and Beka hasn’t kicked you out yet.” She chewed. “I mean, just him brining you here at all is…completely unreal.”

Yuri dragged on the stick again and ignored her. She had been fishing for information on him since he’d been lucid enough to speak, and it had gone past tiresome to frustrating to just plain boring. By unspoken agreement, he and Otabek had told her nothing at all. It didn’t seem to dampen her enthusiasm however.

“My brother doesn’t have friends you know.” She said with the air of passing on valuable information.

“shocking.” Yuri replied flatly. “He’s so approachable.”

Aizada’s laughter rang out loudly, and if Yuri wasn’t already used to her generally loud demeanour, he would have been startled. As it was, she was as likely to shout as talk. Not because she was angry, she just seemed to regard volume as optional. She yelled conversation from the shower, from her bedroom, from the front door. As far as ladylike status quo was concerned, she seemed not to care. Her laugh was harsh, a bark followed by a snigger, and another large bite of the sandwich.

“That’s true. But then again, he had to learn how to be…” she waved her free hand through the air.” “That way.”

“What way?” Yuri asked curiously.

“The way he is.” She shrugged. “Nothing, including natural disasters, will ever crack his face.”

Yuri turned his face to blow the smoke away from them. “Yea?”

She looked at him slyly. “Yeah.

Yuri was unamused. “You’re trying to play an ‘I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours’ game. I’m not buying. If Otabek wants to tell me, he will.”

She shrugged again, unconcerned but grinning. “I know he will. But I don’t think he would mind you knowing.”

“Then he would have told me.”

“Have you asked?”

Yuri pressed his lips together. They hadn’t done much talking, exactly.

Watching MasterChef. Well, that had lasted all of twenty minutes because Yuri could just not understand the accent at all. As much as he appreciated the guy’s huge explosive temper, food wasn’t that dramatic. They had however found something called Nitro Circus which Yuri found vicariously interesting. Otabek preferred Documentaries, so they alternated most nights, content to sit beside each other on the couch. Well. Mostly.

There was a lot of kissing. That was fucking wonderful. It helped that the couch was also his bed and things generally degenerated into that when the clock was past midnight and Aiza was definitely asleep. Talking…had taken a back seat.

Because firstly, Otabek was still on the clock. Always. Of the two weeks Yuri had been there, Otabek was there half the time. Sometimes he would disappear in the night, sometimes without warning. But he always left a text for Yuri, explaining he’d be back.

Even now, he had been gone for three days while Yuri was left twiddling his thumbs in the suite. Being unaccustomed to staying indoors, he was fast becoming antsy, and no amount of Nitro circus was going to help that particular little itch.

“I’ll take your extended silence as a ‘no.’ “Aizada broke into his thoughts.

He flicked the stub away off the side of the building, knowing it was a gross kind of littering but feeling too generally annoyed not to do it. “Don’t you have something better to do than chew in my ear?”

“Actually,” Aizada said brightly, “I was thinking we could go out.”

He eyed her sidelong, suddenly unsure. “What?”

She had finished her sandwich and was brushing the crumbs off her hands. “We’ve both been stuck here for ages. I’m still on leave, and you need the exercise. Let’s go shopping.”

Yuri’s eyebrows went right up. “Shopping?”

 

-8-

 

Shopping was a new experience for Yuri Plisetsky. While malls and shopping centres weren’t a new thing for him, going into one as a man without instruction was new. His wardrobe had always been minimal, his one vanity being animal prints shirts and hoodies, but those were always bought online from another man’s bank account. Every other experience of his involving large populated areas had been circumspect, with him lingering on side-lines and corners. Shadow people didn’t walk in broad daylight without a good reason.

He was still a shadow person, in his mind, but this day he found himself being pulled into shop after shop with Aizada, alternating between annoyance, foreboding and intrigue.

“This is my style.” He told her at the third, carbon copy clothing shop that was trying to be edgy but wasn’t.

She gave him a mildly surprised look as she pulled a purple tank from the rank and held it up for observation. “From what I’ve seen of your very limited wardrobe, I thought angsty teen was your style.”

“Fuck you.” He told her with exasperation. “I’m going somewhere else.”

“Keep you phone on.” She said without concern.

“yeah yeah.”

Yuri wandered out, feeling oddly exposed.  He slotted into the stream of human traffic without really thinking about it, instinctively seeking to stand out as little as possible, and thought. His clothes were clean, but starting to look worn. He’d never wanted more than couple of interchangeable outfits at once, his budget always being small and practicality winning over. Even now, he had a certain amount left in his bank account, enough to buy himself some new clothes but he realised that if he wanted to survive outside of Otabek’s suite, he would need to find work soon.  That idea gave him an illicit thrill. Seeking his own employment, deciding his own payment.

If he wanted to make a space for himself in the wider general criminal underground, he would need to make a mark. A mark that said Yuri Plisetsky. He caught sight of himself in a store window and his feet suddenly grew heavy. He stared, clarity hitting him in one large cold wave.

He didn’t need a new wardrobe, he needed an Upgraded one.

When Aizada found him waiting in the parking lot later, blowing smoke and looking bored, she eyed the shopping bags at his feet but said nothing.

“About time. Nitro circus is airing new episodes.” Yuri said to her as they walked to her car.

“You know.” Aizada said, “I need to expand your television horizons.”

“Meaning?”

“Have you ever heard of Wipe-out?”

 

-8-

“What the fuck is this?” Yuri said flatly as Aizada went to order lunch. They sat on the couch, bags temporarily forgotten.

“Just watch.”

Yuri watched with heavy scepticism. When Aizada came back fifteen minutes later, landing hard enough on the couch to jostle him, he had made ahis judgement.

“Americans are idiots.”

“What else is new?” She replied. “But they make good TV.”

He sat through a few more episodes with mixed feelings, oscillating between outright disbelief and spurts of amusement. After a smoke break he switched them over to beast master, while Aizada lifted the back of his shirt to check on his scars and reapply her ointments and oils.

“Does it still hurt?” she asked, voice professional.

“no.” it did, but Yuri preferred to lie about pain.

“hmm.” She hummed. “Well, good news is you won’t show much scarring. You have that kind of skin.”

Yuri glanced at her over his shoulder. “I wasn’t born with these other ones you know.”

She shrugged, her eyes moving over the cuts and he felt her fingers bumping over the stiches under his shoulder blade. “That just means you didn’t care for them properly, Miracle skin or not, it can only do so much.”

Yuri could conceded that was true. Beyond making sure his wounds had been cleaned and closed, he hadn’t really kept a close eye on them. In fact, Aizada’s care was the best he had ever received. Scars were currency, so collecting them was considered normal. Before, anyway.

Now…probably the same. Still, he was glad not to have anything left over from the crazy boy.

“Thank you.” He said suddenly, impulse turning into decision without passing an in-between point.

The reaction was instantaneous and shared. They both became unusually still, then Yuri rolled his eyes at himself.

“I should have said it before. Thank you for being my nurse.” He said sincerely, making sure to look her in the eye, even though twisting that way still hurt. She blinked at him, surprise smoothing out her face, then smiled her sunshine and mischief grin.

“No problem. Apart from the smoking and my personality, you’re a great patient.”

“The smoking and my personality pretty much covers all of me.”

“Oh right.” She said with fake consideration. “I guess you’re just an asshole then.”

He chuckled and turned away again. “You are such a pleasure yourself.”

“Careful, I am still the one in charge of your pain medication.”

The medication he hadn’t been taking, but they both knew it and so neither brought it up.

Beast master blared on the TV screen, and Yuri watched with half his attention elsewhere. The appeal lay in the physical challenges and he enjoyed thinking of how he would do the obstacle himself. He pulled his phone towards him and typed a brief message.

 **Your sister keeps bullying me about smoking**. It was brief but he didn’t know what else to say, so he sent it and dropped the phone, feeling bored.

“I am not bullying you.” Aizada said from behind him still. She was replacing the bandages.

“It’s rude to read messages over a person’s shoulder.”

“It’s rude to be you, so we’re even.”

To his surprise, his phone buzzed and he snatched it up. Otabek typically didn’t reply quickly, if at all.

 **Ignore her, that’s what I do. I’ll be back in ten hours**.

He’d angled the phone away so nosy people couldn’t read it, but he grinned slightly. He felt a hand slap his back lightly, indicating she was done. He shrugged his shirt down again and leaned back against the couch carefully. Even though he was mostly healed, his ribs still ached and the scars were tender after she’d toyed with them enough.

She had scooted over to her side and snatched the remote, changing it over to something new. He didn’t really mind, so he said nothing.

“I know you don’t want to share anything about you and Beka.” She started up, and before Yuri could glower she added. “I know, I’m not going to ask. I just want to say something.”

Yuri felt his irritation ease at her serious expression, and he waited while she flipped through shows on the screen.

“He is a serious guy, my brother.” She said firmly. “He had to be. Our parents were serious and they wanted us to be serious too, but for Otabek it was more important to be…controlled. Anyway, the point is, we were both taught to be strong always, to keep people at a distance because no matter what, people were the money and we were the bank.”

“The bank?” Yuri asked with a confused frown. She shook her head.

“Take it as you will, but I’m sure if you ask Beka he’ll tell you himself. So the point I’m trying to tell you here is that Beka bringing you here…it’s a big deal. I hope you see that.”

Yuri didn’t know how to respond to the intensity in her expression, and the note of fear in her voice.

“I don’t know your story or whatever horrible shady past you’ve got,” she said with a sigh that indicated she didn’t really car either. “You obviously run in the same circles as Beka, don’t bother trying to act like you don’t.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Yuri snorted.

“Beka just always keeps business and private life separate. And the best way to do that is just not to _have_ one. You being here, officially qualifies as private life.”

Yuri was finally getting her meaning. “You think I’m dangerous.”

“Beka wouldn’t bother even associating with you if he was afraid of you. And he has ways of protecting himself. Information and blackmail are very good bullet proof vests. But yes, I think you’re dangerous.”

She finally met his eyes, and Yuri could see fear there, and anger too.

“I’m not going to hurt him.” Yuri said eventually, though he wasn’t sure what he meant by that.

“People always say that.” She shrugged, becoming comfortable in the couch. “I’m just saying, get to know who and what he is, before you fuck things up.”

Yuri realised there was nothing he could really say to that, the information was too big and raw to touch. So he let it settle in his mind and turned his attention away from her instead.

“What is this?” he asked after a moment of listening to the themes song and watching two good looking American’s move around on screen.

She shot him a gleeful look, all seriousness gone. “This, my bad-tempered friend, is Supernatural. And you’re going to love it.”

 

-8-

 

Otabek came through the door after 2Am, stepping through silently, exhausted to his bones.

He personally didn’t enjoy flying. He used to hate it completely, but over the years of unavoidable necessity, it had simmered down to a bearable level. Still, the longer flights left him with headaches and an unshakeable edginess.

The ritual as he walked into the apartment went on though. The systematic removal of clothing, hanging it neatly over the edge of a chair or in a laundry basket provided by staff. In the low light his feet easily found their way to his room, and he removed his trousers last, letting them fall into the hamper easily before turning to the bed. He was simply too tired to do anything else, let alone attempt a shower. It was easy to find his bed in the dark….

It wasn’t until he had already slid his body between the sheets that he remembered the bed was occupied. With a whole body flinch he all but fell out of the bed, the only reason he didn’t concuss himself on the floor being that Yuri had already caught his arm. He did however, also feel the bite of steel just under his jawbone.

“Geez, Otabek you scared the shit out of me.” Yuri told him, voice tight.

Otabek quickly found his feet, feeling his surprise rattling uncomfortably around inside him.

“I apologise, I was just tired. I didn’t...” he panted, stumbling back to the hamper to find his pants.

“Otabek…” Yuri’s voice followed, now uncertain.

“I’m sorry...” Otabek said, and heard the wheeze in his voice. He was unprepared, forgetful, losing control… his hands fumbled around his trousers, and he nearly fell over pulling them on.

“Otabek.” Yuri said, and he heard the movements of sheets as Yuri left the bed. “Hey, its ok.” A hand on his shoulder made him flinch. “It’s ok, Otabek.”

Otabek’s eyes were blown wide with fear and he saw with perfect clarity the ragged edged dagger still clutched in Yuri’s hand, even though his face only read concern.

He escaped.

He made it to the kitchen island and shakily went to pour himself some brandy.

The room swung. Inside, his heart rattled like a mad thing in a cage. His arm started the tell-tale prickle, like he was gowning thorns.

The worst thing about having a panic attack wasn’t the panic attack itself, but the knowing that it was coming, and watching it arrive like a slowly brewing storm. Immediately he put in place the tactics h knew by wrote. Breathe slowly. To think of something pure and plain and boring. Never food, never food. To recall a simple thing, a simple piece of literature that had nothing to do with anything.

To remind one’s body that it was not in danger.

“Otabek…” he heard Yuri come up beside him then, voice very quiet. “Shit. It’s ok. It was just a mistake.”

It wasn’t that. It wasn’t anything at this point, it was simply a panic. He concentrated on breathing in through his nose and out his mouth.

“I just need a moment.” He said briefly. H wished he was alone. He was usually alone.

“Can I help?” Yuri pressed, his urgency clear.

Otabek shook his head again. No one could help him through this, he knew it even as he fought the rising tide of nausea.

The he felt a hand in his. He saw it before realising what it was, and his heart rate already thrumming went up a notch. He met Yuri’s glittering gaze, glaring at him.

“You were going to start.” He said simply.

Snapping, Otabek wrenched his arm away. “Leave me alone Yuri. Just leave.”

He ignored the enraged shock in Yuri’s face, and ignored the way Yuri turned away angrily and left him he tried not to let the guilt and void left in his wake add to his mountain, but it was impossible.

Yuri of course, made it simpler by not actually leaving. Instead he found a glass from a cupboard and filled it with ice water from the small tap in the island. Then he placed it firmly in front of Otabek’s line of sight.

“Drink this.” He slid the brandy away. “Not this.”

He was drawn again to the green commitment in Yuri’s eyes. The blonde man moved closer.

“What do you need right now?” he demanded.

“outside.” Otabek said.

At the railing, it felt easier to breath. More space around him, more space to breathe back into. His could still feel the shiver of his arms. But the darkness behind his eyes was held at bay and he had more room to calm down. The warm air on his bare skin was refreshing too; it said ‘calm. Safety. Breathe.’

Reminding the body that it was not in danger.

Yuri waited, saying nothing. After an interminable time, Otabek tasted the smoke on the air and looked aside to see Yuri had found his smokes, angrily pulling in tainted air, and thrusting it out again, barely letting it rest in his lungs.

“You should just have left.” Otabek said eventually. Yuri’s head whipped around, surprised.

“No. you look after me, I look after you. Otherwise we start owing each other, right?”

“You are shaken too.”

Yuri waved an affirming hand in the air. “It’s fine. I recover quickly. So what happened now?”

Otabek’s tongue was still dry in his mouth and he couldn’t answer.

“I researched excoriation.” Yuri said quietly. “Seems to have a lot of strings. Is that what this was now? A string?”

Otabek nodded. “Panic attack.”

He felt ashamed. He hadn’t had a panic attack in years. , mild ones yes, nothing that fairly tame medication couldn’t keep under control. He couldn’t take anything stronger, because it compromised his abilities. And by the time he was old enough to seek out counselling for his monumental anxiety, the damage had been done. Still, to have a panic attack now, and in front of someone, in front of Yuri, and because he’d almost gotten into bed with him….

The prickling came back and he glanced at his arms as if he could see the cactus needles poking through his skin. Instead, a long lingered hand closed over the bareness, solid and real.

“hey.” Yuri called his attention. “It’s fine. It was a stupid thing. Stop thinking about it.”

He shook his head. “It’s never that easy.”

“Then what do you usually do? I’m guessing you have techniques right?”

Otabek swallowed drily. “I have breathing exercises. And a mantra.” He hesitated. “This doesn’t normally happen. I…”

“Who cares? I don’t.” Yuri said harshly. “It happened. What do you need now?”

“But I almost...” Otabek sighed. “I don’t want you to think I would just do that, or expect that.”

“You made a mistake because you were tired in the safety of your own home.” Yuri told him. “Stop fucking beating yourself up. I told you I don’t care.”

“You almost stabbed me with a knife.”

“I like to be prepared. It’s not a reflection on you, Otabek.”

Otabek was still struggling with breath. “Still…”

Yuri pushed himself into his space then, pulling close and wrapping his arms around his waist and back. All available skin pressed against his then, firm, warm and comforting.

Comforting.

Otabek stood in shock, arms akimbo and still trying to make the contact feel unwelcome. But it wasn’t. It never was with Yuri.

“Better?” Yuri’s muffled voice asked.

Otabek swallowed, and nodded once. Because it really was. To be embraced without the expectation of recompense…to be embraced at all outside of a bedroom…

“I can hear your heartbeat.” Yuri told him warningly.

“It’s better.” Otabek said aloud this time, letting his arms come down and curl around Yuri’s shoulders.

“It’s better.”

“Better for me too.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As someone who suffers anxiety attacks, I felt this was fairly accurate. Please note though, that everyone's experience is different and has different degrees, but doesn't make it any less real. It's ok to have them, it's ok to tell people how to help you.
> 
> Hope this was ok. Sorry about the wait. I'll have another one within the next week promise.
> 
> Soundtrack for this chapter:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EA68KUb4e7Q&index=5&list=PLw0kxw5sdy4mBOou-GdeDczC3cOyUOc_m  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=11C1x8UlWsM&index=11&list=PLw0kxw5sdy4mBOou-GdeDczC3cOyUOc_m  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KkGVmN68ByU&index=17&list=PLw0kxw5sdy4mBOou-GdeDczC3cOyUOc_m


	14. 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It goes well. Then it doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of a continuation of the last chapter.

“Uh…”

“What?” Yuri said as they stepped back inside, turning the lights on the kitchen only, looking back at him questioningly.

It was a sight. Yuri’s blonde hair was falling down his bare back in chaotic strands, and the only fabric he wore was…

“Tiger striped briefs.” Otabek said simply.

They both seemed suddenly to remember that he was mostly naked, and with mutual lack of reaction went separate ways to recover more clothing. Otabek was already wearing a shirt and on the couch ordering coffee when Yuri came back, wearing a fitted white shirt that bore the words, _‘I’m not your bitch._ ’ On it.

He cleared his throat, hair now pulled back in a messy knot at his neck and sat beside Otabek.

“We went shopping today.” Yuri offered in explanation.

“Oh?” Otabek replied, unsure about the shirt, and fully aware that Yuri seemed not to care that his briefs were still fully visible under the hem.

“Yeah. Which reminds me, I need to find a job.”

Yuri had already turned on the TV, and was flipping through options while Otabek reorganised his thoughts away from purple tiger stripes. It was true, Yuri would need work now. For both their sakes. He glanced at the man next to him, still completely in awe of the creature that he was, the multiplication of juxtapositions. A man who, in spite of being raised within one of the most unforgiving and rigid of systems, had found a way to shout his individuality.

Honestly, Otabek had though Yuri had lost some kind of bet the first time he’d seen him dressed as his normal self. He’d been arrested abruptly after all. But as time went on and proved this wasn’t the case, Otabek moved past the sketchiness of his fashion and saw it for what it was. Hair grown long, far beyond being mistaken for simple forgetfulness. A very definite personal brand. Even though Yuri had yielded to Yaakov for years, he had never broken. It was this realisation that had prompted Otabek to reach out to him in the first place; the knowledge that Yuri Plisetsky swam against the tide, that he would want freedom.

Even if it came by his hands.

He felt his ever growing sense of uneasy guilt as Yuri leaned against him easily, as if they were lovers, as if they had known each other for years. He lifted his arm to curl me over the man’s shoulders, feeling the tickle of hair against his arm, and tried to think of other things.

“Nice tattoos by the way.” Yuri said casually.

Otabek thought for a second before realising that Yuri had seen him shirtless for the first time.

“You always wear long sleeved things. Is that why?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” Otabek replied mildly, his hand finding a loose lock of hair and pulling it between his fingers, letting it slide over and over.

“I don’t actually. I don’t ask you anything.”

That was true. Yuri seemed as content with Otabek’s silence as he was desperate for it to exist. Otabek tilted his head towards Yuri.

“Is there something you want to know?”

He wasn’t sure if he truly wanted to answer that, to give Yuri carte blanche. Because he didn’t know if he could answer anything, he didn’t _know_ if he could deny Yuri. So far, he hadn’t.

Yuri shifted and flopped his head down into Otabek’s lap then, so he could look up directly. Apparently, Yuri did whatever he pleased. “Aizada mentioned something about…how you guys grew up.”

Otabek didn’t reply to that, but he kept gazing at Yuri in his lap, waiting, feeling unexpectedly at ease.

“I don’t want to go into it if you don’t want to.” Yuri went on. “And also, she is fucking annoying.”

There was an insistent little smile reserved in the corner of his mouth for when Yuri complained about his sister. “You’re more than a match for her. And was it about how we were raised?”

Yuri nodded once, still cautious, tense. His other hand came to rest against the blonde hair line absently.

“It’s alright. She asked me if she would be allowed to answer if you asked.”

“I didn’t ask.” Yuri said darkly.

“No. I’m sure she just found a way to tell you.” Otabek said. “It’s alright, I don’t mind. It connects to the tattoos in a way.”

Yuri had started fidgeting with his fingernails, a touch of a worried frown on his face. “It’s your business. But if you want to tell me, I want to hear it.”

He could have simply said _‘I’ll listen_ , or _‘if you need to talk’_. But this was different. This was like saying, _a piece of you is safe with me_. This was saying, _I want to know_.

“It’s not something…” Otabek started. “I don’t think you would go spreading the word. In any case it’s hardly a secret, only boring enough to fall into ignominy. I took over from my father’s business. Or rather, was supposed to. After a few years of it, I preferred to leave and start my own network.”

“She said something like ‘you are the bank’.” Yuri asked, openly curious.

“Ah.” Otabek half chuckled. “That was a phrase of our mother’s. She and my father were as much business partners as a couple. More so, in reality. Our father was, like me, an informant. One of the most valued. But unlike me he worked for two particular employers alone, though they didn’t know it. He was very adept with juggling his knowledge of the two of them against each other, while keeping himself in the clear, and seemingly indispensable.”

“I grew up knowing that I would be asked to work alongside him. He even had the idea that I would work for the one and him the other…”

But Otabek Altin, a child and then a man with a diagnosed if secret anxiety disorder, was unable to play the dangerous game of subterfuge his father had so diligently set up.

“I couldn’t.” he said quietly. “I have never enjoyed deception and working with him made it clearer than ever that I never could. I left his offer and him, and started my own network.”

Everyone in Otabek’s web knew they were on a string. He was neutral territory, and thus, more useful in a world built on deception in every other way. Otabek knew everyone’s secrets, and told none. However, he made careful and clever use of them as bartering and leverage tools.

  
“What my sister meant by the ‘bank’ is that people are only worth the secrets they have, and are willing to share. Information is the best weapon to have against others. Everyone has a fulcrum, a point of pressure, and once you know where that is, then-“

“You can get whatever you want. So you gather people'ss secrets.”

“And I am paid for my services, sometimes to keep them, sometimes to tell them. Like a bank. It’s not the best metaphor but my parents found it applicable.”

“Because people are only worth what their secrets are.” Yuri finished.

“Precisely.”

“What happened when you left?”

Ah. That unpleasantness. “That is what I meant about it not being any terrible news to know about me. No one, not even my father, could play such a careful game for long. Through some mistake of his own, he was found out. Both his employers killed him soon after. I managed to avoid the implication. But the history of my family is well known in certain circles. You may even hear of it in the future. But ultimately, it’s not that juicy of gossip.”

Yuri’s eyes were comically shocked. “Fuck. That’s terrible. Or is it? I mean, you don’t seem too upset over daddy dearest.”

Otabek’s hands were still gliding down the blond hair enjoying its smoothness. “I’m not. My parents…we did not have a text book relationship. At least, not any textbook I’ve read. I always got the impression that my sister and I were more responsibility than human, and were only as valuable as we were useful.”

Otabek paused then, considering. “Since I’ve told you this much.” He rolled up the cuff of his shirt, to reveal the tattoo on his left bicep. It was a palm, with a stylised rose in its centre. Yuri sat up set, most of his knot already loose from Otabek’s questing fingers, but he pushed the hair from his face and looked closer.

“This was to cover a scar my mother gave me. She…did not agree with the idea that I was an anxious child, only in need of correction. If she saw me scratching or starting to panic, she would cut me, to distract me from it. It worked, if only to teach me that controlling myself outward appearance was incredibly important.”

Yuri’s face wrinkled into something ugly. What the actual fuck. Is the world filled with psychos?”

Otabek rolled the sleeve down again. “It was a lesson hard learned. But a lesson nonetheless.”

Yuri gave him a disturbed look. “Don’t tell me you think she was right, that it was ok to hurt you?”

“Of course not.” Otabek replied. “But it taught me survival, and self-control, and I try to see the lesson in everything. Besides, that was then.”

Yuri wasn’t appeased. His gaze bore holes in Otabek’s sleeve and as he was about to reach out Yuri spoke.

“Do you have more?”

Otabek always preferred not to lie, but even if he could, he wouldn’t have lied to Yuri then. “Yes.”

“May I see?”

So Otabek showed him the one on his ribs, and his wrist and on the backs of both knees which he had covered with two eyes. The choice of tattoo had borne some significance beyond being a mask to cover his shame, but Yuri didn’t ask and Otabek didn’t feel the need to explain. Most of the time he simply liked the design. Yuri would punctuate the revelations with small questions, or gentle grazing touches, always observational and soft. When Otabek revealed the one on his pectoral, covered by a stylised sunrise, he wasn’t remotely startled when Yuri leaned forward to kiss it.

When the blonde came away far enough to meet his eyes, Otabek wasn’t afraid, or as cautious as he should have been. It was hard to believe he had arrived back feeling exhausted, and then stumbled head long into a panic attack and now his insides felt liquidly relaxed, skin warm and Yuri’s closeness very welcome.

Their kiss was soft and light, a welcome back kiss, an ‘ _I’m glad that you are you_ ’ kiss. He pulled Yuri closer, encouraging him to slide into his lap, folding so perfectly against his body it didn’t need thinking about.

“I want to see your scars.” Otabek murmured quietly against his mouth.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about my scars.” Yuri replied huskily.

“I do.” Otabek said as he slid the shirt up and over Yuri’s extended arms.

“They aren’t very interesting.” Yuri tried to say but it came out on an exhale and made his words sound more like an invitation.

“I don’t care if they’re interesting.”

Otabek kissed Yuri’s neck, then the thin line of white just above his collar bone, remembering where that one had come from. Then another, lower on his pectoral, more rigid but still old enough to have faded into the same colour as the rest of his skin. Then a third, brand new and still livid pink. He was gentlest with that one. 

While his lips were occupied, he let his hands trace lightly over Yuri’s back, mindful of news wounds and still healing cuts, mapping the outline of the younger, lither man’s body over him. Yuri let his head rest against Otabek’s shoulder and he hummed a low, contented, eager sound. He didn’t whimper or breathe in Otabek’s ear, like other lovers would. He simply enjoyed. Otabek loved how this man loved being touched. Otabek breathed in deeply of the warm, clean scent of his pale skin, then suddenly felt a nip on his shoulder.

“Stop kissing my scars and kiss _Me_.” he demanded and Otabek obliged.

Yuri kissed now like he was hungry, seeking more always more and never balking when Otabek pressed harder, or let his own desire run away with him as he forced Yuri’s mouth more open to taste him deeper. Yuri’s thin restraint was an evaporated memory by now, and Otabek fell into their connection without pause. The heat built and Otabek’s hands travelled downwards onto Yuri’s very bare thigh and _pulled_ …

Yuri gasped and jerked back, but didn’t let go of Otabek’s face. This was the first time Otabek had let their crotches touch, and he couldn’t feel any regret over it. It felt too good.

“Yuri…” he tried, meaning to apologise or push away but unable to.

“yes.” The other man said simply, rolling his hips forward as if he’d done it a hundred times, pushing them so much closer together.

“God.” Yuri whispered, forehead pressing against Otabek’s, eyes closed, and doing it _again_.

“Yuri…” Otabek warned. “Just slow down…”

“I don’t want to.”

Yuri’s eagerness was obviously as their lengths rubbed against each other through thin fabric. Eventually Otabek forced him back, but before he could complain, had caught him and laid him down on the cushions, quickly shucking his trousers until he too was as naked as Yuri, and could gain more friction.

“Why’re we still wearing pants?” Yuri gritted out after Otabek had ground against him once more.

 Otabek kissed his neck, then changed his mind and sucked a large hickey instead. He’d been wanting to do that for ages, wondering how the bruised flesh would look against that pale skin.

“We’re going slowly.” He murmured as he searched for another place to kiss.

“That seems like a unilateral decision.” Yuri said, but his irritated tone was betrayed by the way he bit his lip as Otabek pushed down again, sliding their hardnesses beside each other. “It’s not _enough_.”

“You don’t want to regret this, Yuri.” Otabek tried to persuade him gently. “There nothing wrong with taking our time...”

But he was stopped with Yuri’s hand over his mouth. “How nice of you. But I would like to be treated like a grown up now, if you don’t fucking mind and this grown up wants _more_.”

Otabek still hovered uneasily with indecision, but then Yuri wrapped his arms around his neck and arched into him.

“Please, Beka.”

The last of the fabric came off with a shy warning of ‘no further.’ Yuri nodded and then immediately hissed in pleasure when Otabek rolled his hips down and forward, letting them touch naked for the first time.

Otabek bent his head against Yuri’s chest, reeling himself in with huge strength. He didn’t want it end too fast. So instead he kissed his way down Yuri’s chest, breathing at scars and tasting the musk of his sweat from his nipples. From the sounds of barely contained gasping, he judged that he was doing fine. When he reached the coarser hair travelling down from Yuri’s belly, he glanced up and lost his breath.

Yuri was propped up on his elbows, his hair a mess or silken strands and green eyes fever bright, alert and aware.

“May I?” he asked quietly, almost certain that he would be able to stop of Yuri said so.

“You’re asking me if you can give me blow job.” Yuri asked incredulously.

Otabek managed a small smile. “I need to teach you about consent.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?” Yuri shot back. “Yes, Beka, yes.”

Otabek moved down then, letting his hand touch first, gently and teasing. Yuri was already hard, the delicate dark pink of his penis beautiful and perfect against his dark gold curls. Otabek was not fond of giving blow jobs, but he wasn’t unfamiliar, and right then, he very very much wanted to do this for Yuri. To be his first, and to be his best.

He carefully licked the underside of Yuri’s cock while stroking its base, and listened for the sounds of pleasure.

“I can’t hear you.” He said teasingly.

“And you won’t, because your sister is in the other room.”

Oh yes. He had actually completely forgotten. It was so humorous he laughed. They were just like teenagers.

“Why are you laughing?” Yuri complained.

Otabek didn’t bother replying but dragged Yuri to his feet in a quick movement before pulling them both to the bedroom. Yuri caught on quickly, and ended up shoving Otabek through the door and closing it himself before letting himself be reversed onto the bed.

“This is better anyway.” Otabek told him, moving to his knees and running his hands up Yuri’s thighs. “And this time I want to hear you.”

“You’re demanding.” Yuri smirked.

“How will I know if I’m doing the right thing?” He replied, then licked the underside of Yuri’s cock again, making it twitch and Yuri hiss out ‘Fuck.’

Not that night, but this was enough. He stopped withholding himself them, and wet his lips before descending long Yuri’s entire length in one movement, making Yuri jerk and fall back onto the bed. It felt good to have him heavy in his mouth, and it felt even better to know that he was giving Yuri the pleasure of it. He worked his tongue as much as he could, drawing back to suck at the tip and taste to salty precum, then down again, tightening his lips at the base.

“Beka…” Yuri’s voice was hoarse. “Aaah…just…I think…”

Otabek let go then, wanting to see Yuri’s face when he came. So he climbed the bed again, hand working at Yuri’s length slowly and leaning over the man, the blonde hair spread out on the covers like a mane. The vague frown on Yuri’s face was both familiar and sweet to him.

“Beka…what about you?” He asked sweetly.

Otabek shook his head. This would enough.

But Yuri, as usual, was in disagreement. He reached down a hesitant hand and just out of reach, asked;

“May I?”

In response, Otabek moved himself forward into Yuri’s hand, allowing himself to be gripped and held. It wasn't expert, or experienced, but it was _Yuri_ it was _Yuri’s_ hand and _Yuri’s_ face and _Yuri’s_ voice.

“Like this?” he asked, so carefully, so cautiously that something inside Otabek broke.

“Yes. Like that.”

He kissed Yuri then because his mouth wanted to say other things that his mind wasn’t ready for. He focussed on the tongue against his, the pulsing hardness in his hand, and the tender stroking of Yuri closing around his cock.

“Beka.” Yuri said, as he broke away, and Otabek knew they were running parallel as they approached climax. “Beka?”

“Yes?”

Yuri’s free arm around his neck and pulled him into a clumsy embrace. “I like you, Beka.”

Otabek felt his climax shudder through him, fierce and unexpected, closely followed by Yuri’s own, sweet voice crying out into the air. Otabek remembered enough of himself to stroke Yuri down though the aftershock, feeling the way Yuri clung to him, biting mercilessly into his shoulder. He cradled the other man through it, and held him close, kissing his neck and whispering nothing things.

 

-8-

To his embarrassment, he didn’t even feel Otabek slip from the bed. He woke up to daylight and he was alone.

They had fallen asleep together, with Otabek pressed against his back in the best kind of cage, alien and warm and novel. Yuri had never shared with another person, not once in his entire life. But he had heard people did that sort of thing. He’d always imagined that if he ever was in the situation, he would be too uncomfortable in general to relax enough to make it worth all the hype, but in the aftermath of his orgasm he had felt hazily drained. When Otabek had moved them both to lie against the pillows and curled an arm over his waist, pulling him close, Yuri had let go of consciousness without a fight.

But now it was morning, and he stretched, glorifying in the feel of his muscles drawing against his bones. It wasn’t sex. He was glad that Otabek had enough self-control for both of them, because the night before…Yuri hadn’t really realised just how much he wanted that.

Was it just because he had decades of sexual frustrating under his belt? Or was it Otabek? How on earth was he supposed to know?

He showered and dressed in his ‘not your bitch’ shirt, wandering into the suite with a yawn and a box of cigarettes. He looked around circumspectly for Otabek, but found only Aizada, and decided to avoid her before she could give him some more grief about his unhealthy habits.

 He did however, find Otabek outside on the rood, seated in a wooden garden seat, under an umbrella. Even the outdoor furniture here looked like class, Yuri reflected. No fold out chairs here. He plonked himself in the one beside him, lighting up and sighing contentedly. Otabek glanced at him but remained concentrating on his tablet.

“Morning.” Yuri offered.

“morning.” Otabek replied briefly and Yue felt the glimmer of unease.

“hey.” He said, trying to gain more attention. “You vanished. What did I punch you in my sleep?”

Otabek remained impassive as he shook his head. “No. I just thought it would be better if I left.”

Yuri shrugged. “Why, I didn’t mind.”

“Because…” Otabek started and sighed, laying his tablet on the small table alongside his coffee. “I still don’t believe that something between us is the best idea.”

Yuri felt slapped. The cigarette hung between his fingers, almost forgotten. “What… is this because…”

Yuri recalled himself, the pinnacle moment, confessing his realisation out loud, admitting that Otabek wasn’t simply a passing fancy. Otabek hadn’t replied but he had stayed and Yuri had thought that meant the same thing.

But he hadn’t stayed, had he.

Suddenly Yuri wanted to be far away from Otabek Altin just then and leaned completely back in his seat. “What the hell, Otabek. It’s not like I’m asking or a good morning kiss.”

Otabek as usual, was unmoved by Yuri ire. “And yet, you want me to remain in your bed until morning. You barely know me Yuri. You don’t have any idea of the person I truly am, how can you rely on your affections for me, if you’re so inexperienced yourself?”

The fact that Yuri had been thinking along the same lines that morning only made him angrier. “Oh yes, and let’s not forget that you are just so much more experienced than I am. Yes, oh wise one, you are such a fucking guru. Do you think I would have even let you touch me if I didn’t genuinely like you? And weren’t you the one who asked me in the first place?”

“That was sex, Yuri.” Otabek said quietly, not meeting his eyes. It’s physical. Emotional things are different, and more complicated. It’s possible to have sex with someone without feeling anything for them.”

“And you would know, I suppose.” Yuri didn’t care that Otabek’s eyes narrowed at him angrily then. “Listen to me, you arrogant asshole. I honestly don’t care two fucks about any lovers you’ve had. Have I even asked you? No. And don’t you even try to tell me that last night was ‘sex’ without ‘feelings’, coward.” He stood up so fast the chair teetered then fell with a crash to the floor.

“Even though you love pointing it out to me, I’m _not_ a child. I thought you of all people knew that. But if every time we get anywhere with whatever this is, you run away in the other direction, I really have better things to do.”

He brushed past, meeting Aizada on the way, who had come out to see what the noise was.

“Yuri!” Otabek called angrily behind him.

Yuri stopped just as he was about to pass the woman, and turned around fast enough for his hair to whip his face. Striding up to Otabek, he grabbed him by the neck and brought the faces crashing together, livid and unforgiving. He put all his fuming into the kiss then yanked himself away, wiping his lips.

“I don’t need to have twenty lovers to know myself, Otabek Altin. Read the fucking shirt.”

It took him all of five minutes to pack his things, new clothes and all, and leave.

Otabek didn’t see him again for two months.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want his shirt.
> 
> Also, these two are dorks.
> 
> update: Lawd the typos were bad here. I went to fix them. Please guys if it's really bad, tell me. I don't edit cos i'm usually pressed for time.


	15. 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri is a jet setter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually really enjoyed writing this chapter. more than usual.

It took half a day for Yuri to get himself deep into Manila, and find someone who could make a halfway decent passport. His next step was to find a quick job. He landed two in close succession, the first was simple; steal back a family heirloom from where it stood in the open inside a family restaurant. The second was more difficult, but paid better, and he was willing to risk being defingered in order earn the larger pay cheque. Fortunately, he was no slouch when it came to simple pick pocketing, but he still had to remove the wallet, take the credit card from within it, and then somehow return it to the owner while leaving him none the wiser. It was a challenge, and he was a touch rusty. But two days after leaving the suite, he was on a flight to the United States.

-8-

Yuri landed clumsily on the dumpster lid, then slipped sideways, feet skidding on its surface, but somehow managed not to land with his face in the dirt. He did however, land in something sticky.

In the neon lit side streets of Bangkok, it was best not to question what it might be that you landed in.

In any case, Yuri wasn’t quite home free yet. He made a steady but quick jog away from the landing spot, and down several more streets before found the one he was looking for. The one with a small café, fairly run down but the kind still in business in the small hours and willing to offer deep fried fish in week old oil to anyone desperate enough. There he retrieved his weatherproof tote quickly and silently, giving the shop owner another hundred Baht because it paid to leave people with a good impression, especially if they were helping you commit a crime. Then he changed as he walked, disposing of his black cat suit in pieces along the way, a he threaded through various other wanderers of night-time. Prostitutes, money lenders, tourists, children. Daytime was as good as night-time here.

Eventually, he turned the tote inside out, changing its colour, putting his loot inside it and shrugged it on. Far enough away from the scene of the crime, he relaxed into an easy saunter, though he still remained on high alert just in case some clever tag along had survived.

He had to get back to Chiang Mai by sunset the next day, so he had a few more hours to kill before his plane was scheduled to leave. He wandered the morning market steadily making his way east and watched how the stall and the shops interacted with one another, sharing the scarce patronage. He avoided the skinny girls dressed in too little as they tried their hardest to advertise themselves as something for hungry men, and observed silently the weathered face belonging to a woman who was likely a lot younger than she looked.

Above a shop lintel, there was perched a skinny white cat with orange splotches all over it body, scanning the ground below for scraps but looking regal about it. Yuri held his phone up and took a photo of the creature just before it leapt off to some unknown adventure.

“ **Pretty. Saw him catch a rat**.” Yuri typed into his message box underneath the image of the cat, and then hit send.

 

-8-

 

“This is why.” Yuri snarled as he hauled the other man’s shoulder to follow. I hate working with people.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” the man complained. What was his name? Zinni? Faiza?

“I don’t give a fuck, get to the boat.” Yuri shot back over his shoulder. “I’m not fishing you out of the sea if you fall in.”

“You mean I have to jump?” The man replied breathlessly. “I cannot swim!”

Yuri reached back and yanked on the man’s shoulder once more, ignoring his protest that he would rip the shirt. “Get to the fucking boat, Fizzy.”

“My name is Zainab, as I’ve told you many times.”

“I didn’t care any of those times obviously. What I care about is getting out of here. And If I need to drag you any more I will leave your slow Pakistani feet behind.”

They did make it to the boat, and when they were already a far distance away with Yuri leaning on the motor, he saw a small figure arrive at the pier they had leapt from, possibly yelling, likely angry.

Why was he always being chased? Unprofessional. He sighed at the man beside him, tuning him out as they sped away to opposite shore. When they arrived at the meeting point, hurried and tense, Yuri didn’t wait for his ‘partner’. He staked through the small Burmese town to the little hotel, where he left the flash drive on a table, and when Fizzy arrived he pointed to a seat and said, “Sit. Stay.”

“I don’t take orders from you.” The man retorted, sweating and out of breath.

But Yuri wasn’t paying attention. He was checking his phone for his payment. When he saw the money reflected in his account he clicked his fingers at the seat once more, and glared until the idiot obeyed.

“Stay.” He repeated, and left. “Until your boss sends someone to fetch you. If that flash drive goes missing, he will know it was your fault.”

Later that night, on a ferry to the next closest island, he saw a stylised cat painted on the side of the boat that was puttering alongside his. Even though the light was low, he managed to get a decent shot of it by changing the settings.

“ **I don’t like Burmese cats.** ” He typed, and hit send, before turning the phone off and stashing it away.

 

-8-

 

He refused to take work in Russia. It seemed prudent. But Russia came looking for him anyway. In the shape of Babicheva.

He honestly wouldn’t have known it was her at all, if she hadn’t left her favourite little calling card, which was bits of other people. He found it in his hotel room in Johannesburg, a small velvet bag. He lifted it cautiously, having learned from experience that things looked like gifts were often the opposite. Shaking it out into the bathtub and stepping away, the finger made an obscene thunking down as it bounced against the sides. Wrapped around the lonely digit, a small scroll held together with a red thread.

“ _Hello, Fairy_.”

Yuri ‘tched’ in a single noise that held all his annoyance and not a little fear. Babicheva was…more of a complication. She had no limits. Or rather, she didn’t care about other people’s limits. Even Yaakov found her and her strange partner off-putting. But they were useful.

Fuck, he must be pissed to send her. He must have finally figured it out then.

Shit sticks.

He preferred not to leave a job unfinished, but if the finger belonged to one of his client’s employees, it was going to reflect badly on him and it was best to leave immediately. It would be like Babicheva to set him up this way, making sure the backlash would come his way and screwing up his life in any way she could. The back of neck itched with the thought that Babicheva was watching and as he made his way to the airport, he resolved to be more careful.

The taxi dropped him on a curb and as he stepped back he spotted a striped tabby, cleaning itself under a bench. Its fur was clean, but it was thin, and missing half of one ear. It ignored him easily, confident in its own safety, in its ability to scratch and hiss if the occasion called for it. Yuri squatted down slowly, pulling out his phone. At the moment of the shutter click, the cat looked his way, its lambent eyes catching in the light and making it seem demonically ethereal. In the next moment it was gone, a mere blur of fur.

“ **Stray demon cat**.” He typed and hit send.

He received a reply just as he was about to turn his phone off on the plane.

“ **I prefer strays**.”

 

-8-

 

In Cheng Du, Yuri found a small bar that looked promising and went inside. Sitting at the counter, he saw a little gold cat figurine, its left arm waving back and forth and smiling beatifically. They weren’t uncommon but this was the first time Yuri took the time to take a snap of it.

“ **Friendly.** ” He typed and hit send.

“It’s asking you to leave your money.” The bartender told him and he looked up. It was a youngish man, his hair short and spike up, a plethora of metal adorning his ears. But what draw Yuri’s eye was his shirt; a tank, covered in leopard spots drawn tight across his ropey body. When Yuri met the man’s gaze again, it was filled with mischief.

“If I’m going to leave my money, I hope I get something for it.” Yuri replied, as if he hadn’t been caught staring.

“What would you like?” the bartenders smile promised more than a drink.

Later, Yuri found himself back against a wall and being kissed. He tolerated it for a few experimental moments, but then pushed him away. The darkly slanted eyes were disappointed but still full of play.

“I thought you liked me.” he said, leaning closer to Yuri’s neck again. Yuri forced him away with more force this time.

“I liked your shirt, idiot.” He said, sounding bored, and turning away.

Back in the small, non-descript hotel room, he found that early morning television in china was much the same as anywhere, which was to say, pretty fucking boring. But after flipping through several channels he saw something he recognised. It was dubbed into Mandarin but it was definitely master chef, and somehow seeing Gordon Ramsey exploding in Mandarin was even funnier than English.

He let it play, watching it without seeing and eventually letting his eyes wander towards the open window. Anaemic street light filtered into the room, thin and washing the walls yellowy orange. He thought about the kiss, the mechanism of it, and the taste of alcohol on the bartender’s breath. The smell of his sweat and the feel of his velvet skin under his hands. Of clumsy touches and the scrape of hangnails.

 And the feeling of nothing. Nothing at all. It had been like kissing nothing. He could have been doing accounting at the same time.

His chest felt constricted then, the bands of unnamed emotions pulling tight and he gave in, just once.

“I miss you.” He wrote. After much lip chewing, he hit send and left his phone on the floor for the rest of the night. He didn’t often get replies, but that night, he preferred not to pretend he wasn’t waiting for one.

 

-8-

 

He was in Chaing Mai when Babicheva finally lost her patience and came to find him out in the open.

“So I hear they are calling you the Ice tiger now.” her deceptively friendly voice lifted into the air beside him on the rooftop. If Yuri hadn’t been sensing her ever nearer hovering the last couple of days, it would have scared him shitless. “Why is that?”

Yuri shrugged, knowing that his bravado would have to look genuine, if he wanted to stall for enough time. “Who cares?”

“You don’t think it’s because of your very particular fashion sense?” she said, stepping up to him on the roof’s slanted surface, looking ill at ease, though if it was the height or the uneven surface he didn’t know.

Yuri was wearing a newly acquired outfit then, as he wasn’t due to work for another five hours at least. Black silk embroidered with a red and gold tiger, draping its way across his shoulders as it chased a wolf, embossed in blue and black.  Sin tight leopard print pleather ants made for poor stealth, but goddamit if they didn’t feel amazing on.

It was true though. His new bank account and freedom has unleashed some sort of bad taste demon inside him and he loved to find the truly unique, often most expensive clothes off the racks. He tried experimenting but he was always drawn back to animal prints. For him they felt like a silent roar at the world, and they said ‘fuck you, I do as I please.’ It had earned him a fairly obvious reputation.

There is a new thief, they said behind closed door, over card covered tables and the clink of poker chips.

_What is his name?_

_He used to be the fairy._

_Him? No._

_Yes._

_He isn’t now, that’s for certain. He never misses a mark._

_I heard someone call his kitten._

_That was Jung Ho and now his mouth is wider than it used to be. The stiches look bad._

_So the kitten has claws._

_The **tiger** has claws._

_How can someone who stands out like a candle in a hole be such a successful thief?_

_Isn’t it your turn to deal?_

Yuri contrived to give Babicheva a withering look. “Are you here to get fashion tips? You could use some but I don’t think I’m the one to help you.”

Babicheva always wore things that were too tight in his opinions, concealing nothing, including her various weaponry. Babicheva was always on display. But his interest in personal fashion ended with himself, and he didn’t actually care.

“No, I’m not. I think you know why I’m here.”

“Is it to kill me, by any chance?”

“Well, no, not unless you make it difficult to bring you home.” She flashed him a glittering smile. “Please make it difficult.”

Yuri leaned away from that smile. “I met someone like you recently. In japan.”

“Was she as pretty as me?” the redhead asked tipping her head flirtatiously.

“No, he was crazy like you though.” Yuri stood up, measuring the distance between the feet and the adjacent rooftop with his eyes. “Are you here to talk or something else? Because I’m bored.”

Babicheva pretended disappointment with a large sigh, and leaned back on the roof tiles, making corrugated iron look as comfortable as a mattress. “Well, I was told that I should give you five days to come to your senses. And return. Personally, I don’t really care what you do but Yaakov is so very annoying when he thinks other people are playing with his toys.”

“I’m no one’s toy.”

“Oh really? Is that why you spent two weeks living with Altin in luxury?”

Yuri stiffened. Of course, he shouldn’t have been naïve enough to think that it would go unnoticed. He swallowed the realisation quickly, knowing that he needed to end the conversation before he said something stupid. He didn’t like Babicheva, but provoking her was a very stupid thing to do, no matter who you were.

“What I do is none of your business.” Yuri said, stepping up on the parapet and crouching, judging distance. “You can tell Yaakov I’m no one’s now, not even his.”

“He sent this parting gift.” He heard her voice behind him as he launched. While in the air, he felt the sharp sting on the back of his thigh and flinched, but still managed an acceptable landing. Reaching back, he pulled out an ice-pick, as long as his middle finger and half-way embedded in his leg. He’d seen her use it before, to kill quickly by stabbing it through the back of a person’s neck, straight into the vertebrae. He sent a full-fledged glower back at the woman standing on the opposite roof.

“He says you left it in his back when you left.” She called across the open space, laughing as she spoke.

Yuri threw it off the roof and carried on his way. If she wanted to kill him, she would have.

Apparently, he had five days.

 

-8-

 

“What are you saying to me?” his current client, a severe looking woman with the thinnest eyebrows he had ever seen, said. Her voice was unnaturally deep, probably a result of years of smoking. Even now, she held a sweet smelling cigarette holder, its ends trailing smoke like the nostril of a dragon.

“I’m saying I don’t steal cash. Documents, information, objects, heirlooms, even credit cards. But not actual cash.” Yuri told her flatly, tapping his own ash out into the heavy ceramic tray on the table between them.

“That seems an arbitrary line to draw.” She answered, her voice like gravel.

“Not really. The only kind of cash people would be hiring me to procure would be in large amounts. It’s bulky, easy to lose, easy to track. And if any goes missing I would be the first suspect. Inconvenient and also, not very challenging. If you want something like that, send one of your thugs.” He indicted the two cartoonishly large men standing either side of her, almost identical in size, shape and expression.

“That is not their expertise either.” She answered. The two lines above her eyes creased and Yuri supposed that was a frown for the rest of her face didn’t really move at all. “Very well, though you are the one who will lose out on the compensation. And the other job?”

“Fine. I’ve already set it up.” Yuri had also bought himself a suit for the occasion he didn’t often get to do his job out of the shadows, but when he did, he could afford to look the part.

“Good.” She tapped ash off the end of the long stick, and Yuri noticed the jewels embedded in her nails. “I have to stress, however, the importance of this item.”

“Yes. It’s a phone, I can imagine.”

“The man you will be taking it from-“

“You can send me the details later, please.” Yuri said, standing up and there was a very definite frown this time.

“I heard that you were rude.” She said, accusingly, but Yuri was unapologetic about it.

“You aren’t hiring me for my sparkling personality.” Yuri replied. “I get the job done. You’ll get your cell phone, I get my money.”

“A person with your reputation could only make it better if you were less …caustic.”

“What is the fucking point of that?” Yuri replied, walking away from the table and out of the smoky office above the tea house.

Yuri had manged, in just under two months, to carve his initials into the slimy underground world in which he had grown up. He knew enough to get started, but he stayed away from mob work. Violence had always seemed like a necessary evil to him, important but distasteful, so he steered himself towards using his ever so ‘nimble fingers’. He knew enough to clever, and was capable to keeping himself alive and uncaught. And so far, he had never left a job unfulfilled.

His reputation was in equal parts tainted and enhanced by his previous association with the Russian mob, and in specifically Yaakov. People found it both amusing and novel to hire someone Yaakov had once kept so close. But after Harare, and several bloodless dead bodies left in a dusty informal settlement, and an extremely irate Ugandan warlord missing his very favourite gold handgun, the tone of his reputation changed. Yuri took on the clever jobs, the ones that had set others back, the ones that required a large amount of barefaced cheek.

This particular job, he’d been told had already been attempted by three other, and had been left incomplete. Yuri was subtly pleased with himself for catching it.

 

-8-

 

Yuri had manged to find a suit that was the middle ground between cost and taste, and it didn’t look too bad on him. Considering he probably wouldn’t use it again, he didn’t want to waste money buying something tailored, but he also didn’t want to look like shit. He spiced it up with a gold tie and cufflinks in the shape of silver stretching cats. He reflected briefly that the cat brooch would go well with the ensemble, but he had left it with Otabek Altin and that was as it should be. It meant he would come back, one day.

He did take a moment to check his knifes in their straps around his chest, and one on his forearm, the sleeping pills stitched into the collar, and finally the intricate knot he’d decided to get his hair plaited into. He didn’t often go to a job showing his face, because by now he was incredibly recognisable, but in this particular case, he didn’t mind being known as Yuri Plisetsky the ice tiger. He found the idea that his very presence would make affluent men and women alike clutch their purses tighter was extremely funny. Diplomats would obsessively check the medals on their lapels, businessmen would make sotto voiced calls to their bankers and accountants, made up women would finger their jewellery every two minutes just knowing he was in the room.

But still, it was only amusing, not an ego boost in the least. Ultimately, this was all for one thing; freedom. The assertion of ones individuality to the world.

Before he left, he took a quick photo of his left cufflink, its diamond eye winking at the camera. And sent it without any text at all.

He stepped into the hotel lobby, and sauntered up to the counter with his invitation and his cash. The low level casino taking place in its underbelly was a buy in, and Yuri was happy to put up the cash since he would be making it back times ten by the end of the night. He was directed through a pair of elaborately carved wooden doors, and then down a fairly non-descript hallway, at the end of which he was let into a room that was a far cry from the upper class glitter of the upstairs’ lobby. This had left decoration alone, instead dedicating itself instead to the acquisition of wide green baize tables and poker chips in rai bowed colours. The atmosphere of the room was lambent, the delicious tension that comes from large amounts of money being in liquid, acquirable state.

Yuri himself was absolutely terrible at Poker and gambling in general, because his patience was nearly non-existent. But he could look the part. He went to the small bar at the east end of the room, ordered a vodka and took his phone out to finally read the details of his mark.

Dark hair sharp undercut, grey eyes. Would be wearing an emerald green tie and a gold brooch in the shape of a snarling cat…

“Those cufflinks look familiar.” A voice said behind him, freezing his fingers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am often writing this so incredibly fast and I edit on the fly. After going over the last chapter I saw the horrendous amount of typos. It was horrible. If you see typos that are so bad they don't even make sense, tell me please!!
> 
> Feel free to say hi on Tumblr. Or leave comments and questions.
> 
> Heads up, i'll likely be taking prompts at the end of this story.


	16. 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long one for you thirsty folk.
> 
> I'm not sure when the next one will be, maybe the weekend.

_Two months earlier…_

 

Aizada watched as Yuri’s blonde disappeared behind a closed door, her entreaties to him to stop, that his injuries were still too vulnerable falling on deaf ears and a fuming demeanour. It took him all of three minutes to shove his meagre belongings into the bag he’s arrived with then leave, which was Aizada turned back to where her brother should have been standing, but wasn’t.

She wasn’t sure what exactly was going on, but she was mostly sure that her brother shouldn’t be hiding outside on the rooftop like a damn coward. She stomped outside to see him finishing his coffee with a face that could carve a mountain side. Sometimes, he reminded her so very much of their father, except their father had sometimes smiled. Even if it had been one of the most clinical things to arrive on his face, it had been a smile. Otabek never smiled.

“Beka!” she said coming up next to him. “What are you doing? He’s left!”

Otabek spared her a glance as if she was simply talking about the weather. “Good. It was about time.”

“ _Ecyac_.” She said with a huge sigh. “Are you really just going to let him go? He is still healing.”

Otabek stood, slotting his tablet under his arm, and was taller than her by at least a head. “He will be fine. He’s been through worse.”

As he moved to pass her she spoke, trying to catch him with something, anything. “Why bother bringing him here if you’re just going to let him get hurt again?”

Otabek did pause, and turned halfway back to her. “I owed him a debt. Now it is repaid. That is all, Aiza. Stay out of it, it’s not your business.”

She was partway furious and perplexed when he simply walked away from her, and she followed.

“You’re telling me that it was just a debt? It seems unusual to me, to kiss someone you’re indebted to.”

This time Otabek stopped properly a flicker of shock across his face and she put her hands on her hips.

“Oh please, you two are _not_ subtle. My room is just there.” She indicted her door, which was a few steps away.

“It was nothing.” her brother replied, a flat look coming behind his eyes that made him seem like a mannequin, and she pointed her finger at him.

“Don’t you try and lie to me Beka. Why are you doing this? What is wrong with him? He seems great to me. And you obviously like him…” she tried valiantly to persuade him, but in truth she had never encountered her brother with a partner before, not one he actually seemed to have feelings for.

“It’s none of your business.” He said again, as flatly as the first time.

“It’s my business because you’re my brother.” She said, coming closer to him. Even though he fidgeted around his laptop and briefcase, she knew he was trying to avoiding her gaze. “I care for you.”

“Thank you. I care for you as well.”

She knew he did. In spite of the damage their parents had done, to teach them to keep everyone at a distance, family was still paramount. But it also meant that the only faces Otabek saw with any repetition was herself and their mother, who was merely a vegetable of a stroke victim in her home. That was, until Yuri Plisetsky.

“I knew he was dangerous.” She said, watching for his reaction. “I told him so.”

Finally, he looked directly at her, expression guarded. “What did you tell him?”

She crossed her arms. “I told him that he was trouble. Because he knew too much about you and what you do. Did he say something?”

Otabek blinked at her, a slight frown creasing his handsome features. “No of course not. Yuri would never see his connection to me as a something to be profited from.”

“Then what happened, Beka?”

Otabek’s façade has a crack in it now, and Aiza saw the glimmer through it, making her heart seize a little. Then he looked abruptly away.

“Nothing. He was nothing.”

 

-8-

 

Otabek was resolute. He did not seek out Yuri.

He could have. Very easily. Yuri Plisetsky, even if he tried, couldn’t do ‘subtle’.  And Yaakov had already sent out a horn blast saying that he was searching for the man, who had been in his employ but had left after stealing something from him. He tried to paint him as betrayer, and made sure that there was the ‘Wanted poster’ equivalent out for his head, without actually offering any bounty. He seemed to expect people to help him in Yuri’s capture by virtue of his name alone. Yaakov over estimated his likability.

But Otabek realised soon after, the other reason why Yuri was still uncaptured. He had made himself valuable.

Small whispers came to him, from his many many spiders and birds and rats, of a thief with gold blond hair and extremely nimble fingers, and a penchant for taking jobs that were considered just a touch too risky. Someone had taken a necklace from the Duchess of Margate, in the brief moment she had taken it from her neck to have her hair redone in the bathrooms at a charity function. The safe of Business Mogul Alexander Tate had been tapped open one night and had left the bonds, money, documents in favour for a small white envelope he refused to explain to anyone who asked. In the middle of the night. They had only found out three days later. a truly ugly gargoyles which had decorated the entryway of Zhuang Ze’s teahouse, one of the more successful brothels in Tokyo, had been removed and found in the gardens of Passang, an affluent man who’d made his fortune patenting the design of toothpaste caps. Both families refused to acknowledge that anything had been stolen.

And then there were the texts.

He’d not forgotten that Yuri had his number, and he Yuri’s in turn. For the first ten days, he would often open his contact list and stare hard at the name on his screen, as if the act would somehow force some sort of chain of events. Nothing ever did.

With the passing of time, the knowledge that he had been wrong festered and swelled in his mind until he was sick with it. His throat constantly closed, and he swallowed compulsively. He began to bandage his arms, so that he couldn’t be tempted to scratch the skin off and gain some sort of relief.

Then the first text had arrived. An elegant image of an orange coloured cat, sitting at the edge of a rooftop and framed by a sunset over some silhouetted city. And the brief caption beneath it: marmalade cats are common in London.

It had been like a balm. Otabek felt the knot in his throat loosen and breathed easy for the first time in two weeks.

It took him another two weeks to be brave enough to type a reply. Even then it was feeble, unnecessary. But his obsessive nature helped him, and he used his own software to track the origin of each message. Tokyo, London, Chaing mai, Kenya, South Africa, Burma…and a dozen others. Yuri Plisetsky was no longer the trembling, spitting thing he’d met that first day in the prison. Though he still threw a middle finger at the world, he did it with pride now. Otabek repeatedly stopped himself from using his connections to retrieve a covert glance of the man, to see him, even in the grainy black and white quality of a city camera. He could have, but he didn’t.

It wouldn’t be fair.

But nonetheless, he felt the vacuous space in his life now. It followed him everywhere. Aiza was sent back to her daytime career, and Otabek returned to his, but the void was constant, a ragged edge whole of emptiness beside him. He found himself imagining Yuri’s reactions to a client’s demands on him, or his recommendations for the best way to attempt a difficult extraction. He imagined Yuri rolling his eyes when he sighed at his computer. He considered if Yuri would enjoy the myriad of hotels Otabek resided in, superimposed his hair played messily on the couch arm or cushions while he watched whatever trashy show he could find at 2 AM. He imagined them both being night owls and unable to sleep and spending the time in other ways.

He imagined cigarette butts in an ash tray beside his bed.

He had long ago realised he _missed_ Yuri Plisetsky, regardless of the limited time they had spent with each other. Yuri had a way of leaving an impression.

Now he suspected that he was in love with the man.

The realisation had given him some shock, then instant anxiety which catapulted him straight back into his resolution that sending Yuri away had been the best possible outcome. He convinced himself he regretted nothing. His father had explained it perfectly one day, using a fly lure.

_“It is designed to look pretty, Ota.” His father had said, leaning close and displaying the sparling thing, all feathers and glitter and neon colour. “But here, you see,” his finger carefully moved aside a feather to reveal a vicious hook, grey and uncompromising, “Once that hook is in the fish, there is no way he can get loose.”_

That was why it was better to remain distant. It had worked exceedingly well for him for his life. Not simply for his line of work, but for his personal sanity. He could view his anxiety with a clinical eye, seeing it for what it was, an involuntary reaction that he could control, if he concentrated hard enough. Everything could be compartmentalised into a bodily reaction, really. The need to eat, the need for security the need for sex.

He personally had never experience a need for a person that was as visceral as this one was. It had taken a simple text, arriving at the start of a sunset.

**‘I miss you.’**

And once again, his resolve became like so much ash. His fingers had hovered over the reply butting for an eternity before he let the phone drop, untouched. That was when he began to re-examine himself, and the meaning of the word ‘coward.’ Otabek had never considered himself brave, one would have to be afraid in order to be rave. He simply got one with things. Perhaps once, when he was a child he had known fear. Fear of his mother’s impassionate face as she held the knife, fear of his weakness being discovered, fear of repercussions; childish things. Disassociation and caution had been employed perfectly since then, and left him anaesthetised to fear.

It occurred to him then, that if he was afraid, he was definitely a coward, and the accusation fit him perfectly. But the information was a useless thing in his hands. How does one overcome cowardice when there is nothing to fight against?

Then another, sinister whisper reached his ears. Yaakov had lost patience with waiting, and had sent one of his special hounds after his lost merchandise. Otabek knew that this was partly in response to his currently escalating war with Katsuki Yuuri; he had lost one of his peons, he refused to lose another. The sniggers were already beginning that Yaakov couldn’t keep his men under control. It didn’t help that he had obviously heard Yuri had spent time with him, and his ever homophobic brain couldn’t abide it. Now Yuri was being hunted.

He chewed on the information for two days before making a decision.

The easiest way to be brave, is to be afraid for something first.

Or someone.

 

-8-

 

Yuri felt all the hairs along his back, arms and neck stand on end, which he thought was a horrible overreaction and cursed his body for being such a push over.

“Ah, shit.” He said, when he met Otabek’s eyes and realised what had been done. “You set this up didn’t you?”

His heart was drumming, but he put it down to surprise. He hadn’t seen the man in two months, but he was as uncomfortably handsome as ever. Otabek met his gaze squarely and the corners of his eyes folded a little. Something niggled for Yuri’s attention but he was still recovering, so he ignored it.

“Why would you think that?” Otabek replied, taking his own ordered drink from the barman and leaning on one arm, other hand in the pocket of his tailored suit pants.

“Because I’m not an idiot.” Yuri sighed, gulping down a healthy amount of his own drink. “Although, considering everything tonight, I probably am. Fuuuuck, I’m going to lose out on a really big payday you know.”

Otabek tilted a head, interested. “How so?”

Yuri crossed his arms on the counter and gave him a tolerant look. “Two things. I was hired to rob you, but I didn’t know until right this moment, cos I was lazy about it. And two, I am obviously not going to rob you now, so I won’t get paid.”

“I honestly thought you already knew it was me.” Otabek replied, with a small nod, keeping his eyes open and fixed on Yuri. “My apologies.”

“Keep them. I know this is your fault.” Yuri replied flatly. “I know you would never be so careless as to let people know here you’ll be, and when, and even then you wouldn’t have your phone on you, which is what I was supposed to take. So that means you set this up.”

They stared down for a few moments, before Otabek put his drink down and reached into his shit jacket, pulling out a sleek black phone the exact same as Yuri’s. He laid it on the counter and slid it over.

“Here you go.” He said, before picking his drink up again, eyes watchful.

Yuri picked up the phone dubiously. “Well, aren’t you considerate?”

He switched it on out of habit, the familiar feel in his hands taking over and stuttered. The lock screen was a very familiar demon cat, with flat green eyes.

“It was my favourite.” Otabek told him.

Yuri closed his mouth and switched the screen off. “I don’t really intend to steal your phone from you.” He slid it back over.

“Why not? You seemed to want to compensation.”

Yuri preferred not to say out loud that he never had any intention of committing any crimes against Otabek Altin, so instead he said, “You took all the fun out of it.”

He met Otabek’s eyes again and once again, the feeling of something being different; a lilting, effervescent feeling when he looked at Otabek’s face. The man slid the phone back into his suit and said;

“We can rectify that.” He took another sip from his drink. “I could let you take it from me.”

Yuri turned to him, eyebrows quirked. “Take Me from you? No, I’m afraid I still don’t see the appeal. Besides, that’s a burner phone, not the real deal.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because you’re not an idiot either.”

Then Otabek smiled.it was a small thing, a hint on anyone else but a broad thing on Otabek’s stern face. Somehow he made it look handsome. And then Yuri realised what was different.

Otabek was _flirting_.

The man’s next action only confirmed it, when he leaned closer, tilting his head as if he wanted a kiss. “You’re absolutely correct. But your employer doesn’t know that. You’ll still fulfil your contract, and still get paid. It would take her three or four days before she knows it’s fake.”

Of course he knew who had hired him, he had set the whole thing up after all and he still hadn’t explained why. Still a little stunned in the headlights of Otabek _flirting_ , he didn’t react with his usual snark. “But I still have to get it off you.”

“If you can.”

The very artistic raise of eyebrow Otabek gave him was striking and ridiculous. Yuri finally took control of himself. He let himself grin back, feeling a familiar thrill of a chase set in. “Hmm, it seems like a set up to me. You still haven’t explained why you’ve done this.”

“It is exactly that, Yuri Plisetsky.” Again, the Mona Lisa smile.

“Were you even planning on playing a game tonight?”

“I _am_ playing one.”

They had been shifting closer and closer together, but the words were like a cold shower and shocked the grin off Yuri’s face. He stepped back so fast, his elbow bumped against the table.

“I know this game. And I don’t like it. I’d rather miss a few meals thank you.”

Yuri tossed some money at the bartender before escaping fast. He had been wrong; he was an idiot. He’d wasted money getting into this scene, if he hadn’t been lazy he’d have known it was Otabek in the first place and now he was here playing stupid words games with the man. He’d never really bothered to think about why he was sending him cat pictures, it had simply started and had been a small tether still connecting him to the man, but seeing Altin now reiterated what he had known; Otabek was a bad idea.

He had made it all the way up the stairs when another familiar face made him throw his arms up in annoyance.

“Hello, Ice Tiger.” Sezim said with his Cheshire cat grin. “I like the new nick name, very dangerous sounding.”

“I’m done here. Get out of the way.”

“Eh, “Sezim replied, looking very slightly regretful. “He sort of thought you would do something like this.”

“Like what? Leave?” Yuri said, trying in vain to get around Sezim’s bulk which effectively blocked the stairway. The only way through would be to get on his hands and knees, and he had some dignity. At least while he was dressed in a suit.

“Run away.”

“It’s only running away if I was scared. I’m just _pissed off_.” Yuri said, backing up a step. “Get out of the way or I will kick you in the head so hard you’ll have a headache for days.”

“Its fine, Sezim.” An unwelcome voice said behind him. Sezim slowly folded himself to the side, and Yuri made his way past as soon as there was enough room. He emerged into the shinning lobby, feeling too bright against his eyes. He heard the click of hard soled shows behind him but didn’t slow. He had made it through the front doors before Otabek caught up with him and grabbed his shoulder.

“Touch me and your fingers will regret it tomorrow.” Yuri sang over his shoulder, but he stopped, wrenching his shoulder away.

“Yuri. Please I would like to explain myself.” Otabek was no longer the suave version he’d seen downstairs, but there was still something bared there, that Yuri preferred not to see. He shrugged, affecting unconcern.

“No need. I’m leaving. I’d say this was fun, but it wasn’t.”

“Yuri. One drink, and if you want to leave then, I won’t stop you.”

Yuri analysed the man’s face, suspicious now and feeling more cautious than ever. He looked for signs of deceit. “Not thank you. I’m not into your games. Not even a little bit.”

It astonished Yuri to see repentance on his face then, not only that but that he showed it openly. “Yes, I know. I’m sorry.” His eyes were too wide then, to easily like something that could be hurt. “Please. One drink.”

Yuri shook his head, feeling the hurt from two months prior afresh. “I said no, Otabek. I am just not into your emotional yo-yoing. Maybe some people find that cute, but I find it fucking annoying.”

“I promise, “Otabek appealed, keeping his distance. “I want to explain myself. But aside from that, I have a business proposition for you. That is why I came here tonight, not to have a reprisal of the last time we met.”

Yuri felt his hackles sink ever so slightly. Business? He gave Otabek a long, assessing look before pushing his hands into his pockets.

“I’ll come with you. And then I will take the phone off you, because if anyone is watching it has to look real. You have the time it takes me to take it from you to talk.”

Otabek nodded once, never once looking away.

“Business only.”

 

-8-

 

Otabek had mixed feelings over the way things had gone so far, but he _had_ suspected Yuri wouldn’t be pleased to see him. Ho mistake had been to fall into the same ease of conversation they’d had before, and to openly show his admiration without explaining himself first. Well, it wasn’t the first mistake he’d made when it came to Yuri. He’d simply slipped into his usual methods of making his intentions known and it had been so simple, he’d half convinced himself it was a good idea. But when he’d seen the ease melt from Yuri’s face to be replaced with something far colder, the suspension of disbelief had ended. Still, he wasn’t about to leave it at that. He’d made a decision, and he intended to follow through.

So he sat down on the high wing back, aware that Yuri was deliberately keeping a distance between them when he chose the one opposite instead of beside him, with a small round drinks table between them. Immediately, the blond lit up and fixed him with a suspicious look.

“So. Talk.”

Otabek signalled for a waiter to attend them, and crossed one leg over the other, regaining his poise. He had never actually begged anyone before in his life. Not even his mother.

“I have been contracted by Katsuki Yuri to aid him in a fairly dangerous project, and I find myself in need of a bodyguard.”

Yuri’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t bullshit me. As if you don’t have ten of those on hand.” He indicated Sezim, who was at the bar, far enough away not to overhear them, close enough to be of use if required.

“I need someone with your particular skill set, as well as body type. Once more, smaller hands and lighter feet is what I require.”

“Why?” he pulled hard on the cigarette, then blew out a cloud of smoke. They halted conversation briefly to order, then as the waiter walked away Yuri began to undo the knotted hair at the base of his neck. Otabek found his eyes drawn to the action, watching the fall of straight gold hair, observing how it had grown very slightly. One small braid remained intact, independently tied and Yuri fluffed the rest of his hair, looking as if caging his locks had been a trial.

“You need a thief. Not a body guard.” He said, not looking at him.

“I need both, though more a bodyguard. I heard you threaten Sezim, and I fully aware you could make good in that promise, if you wanted to.”

“I did want to.” Yuri scowled. “What’s the job, anyway?”

“Katsuki Yuuri is in the process of toppling Yaakov’s organisation.”

This got Yuri’s attention, his green eyes wide and momentarily absent of ire. “What?”

“It seems that Yaakov has spread himself too thin and is making bad decisions. He threatened Katsuki’s mother.”

“Why the fuck would he do that?” Yuri’s cigarette was forgotten, and ash fell on the carpet. The man was so effortlessly careless.

“It seems that he still harbours resentment from losing you as well as Viktor. He is making clumsy attempts to get Viktor to return of his own accord, since Katsuki won’t hand him over.

“Huh.” Yuri said after a moment, falling back into the seat once more, legs splayed and pensive, looking so carelessly beautiful Otabek was dazzled for a moment. He reminded himself of his dual purpose here.

“So I have been hired to take part in his downfall.” He finished with a swallow, threading his fingers together.

“That’s not like you. You prefer to be Switzerland, don’t you?”

The drinks arrived just then, and they both took them with alacrity that was not casual enough not to be eager.

“I have taken the commission,” Otabek said carefully, “because I have a personal interest in the matter.”

“What matter?” Yuri demanded, his drink close to his mouth.

“The matter of Yaakov Feltsman.” Otabek forced himself not to fidget. It had never been so difficult. “I have never enjoyed working with him, but as of late, I find that I have additional reason to want his downfall as much as Katsuki Yuuri.”

He didn’t ass that is was much for the same reason, because that was not hi secret to tell. Yuri took another large sip. “You being vague is not cute.”

“I know Babicheva came to visit you and I know why.” Otabek said, catching Yuri’s attention again. “I know because she went to you directly after being in Japan and threatening both Viktor and the Katsuki matriarch, and I was asked to find her. I know you have another two days before she comes after you.”

Yuri’s glass made a soft clink as he set it on the drinks table between them. “And so? This is my problem, not yours.”

Otabek sighed. “It is partly my problem. Regardless of the fact that my business proposition is genuine, I would prefer you not to be in that kind of danger.”

“What the fuck?” Yuri hissed and stood, looming over him. “I made myself clear to you last time, Altin, I am no child, and I am _not_ your problem. You can’t possibly think I can’t take care of myself. I did before I met you, and I have since. Asshole.”

Otabek stood then, to block Yuri’s exit. “No, I still have to explain myself. And you promised me one drink.” He pointed at the half empty glass. He should have expected it when Yuri swiped it up, downed the contents and put it back.

“I don’t need your business and I have to be on a plane to Norway in three hours, so if you don’t mind moving the fuck away-“

“Yuri, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care.”

“I was wrong.”

Finally, the man stopped trying to get past him. Otabek blinked at himself. He hadn’t admitted to being wrong in….never.

“I was wrong when we last met.” He reiterated but Yuri folded his arms against his pleas.

“Yes, you said that part already. But since you only seem to regret it after we mess up the sheets, I’m doing you the favour of stopping this shit before we get there.”

Otabek was stunned by the bluntness but knew he deserved it. “No, I meant I was wrong about what I said after. About making you leave. I shouldn’t have, and I have spent the past two months trying to convince myself that I was right to do it, but I was not.”

“I don’t feel like playing this game, Altin.” Yuri said flatly.

“I’m not asking for your forgiveness, but I did come to say something specific.” He drew a deeper breath, seeking out Yuri’s eyes. “I found out about Yaakov sending an assassin to find you and I knew that I couldn’t stand by and watch. You are the reason I am taking this commission from Katsuki. Because I want to…”

“What?” Yuri asked, his voice barely audible.

Otabek risked putting a hand out to touch Yuri’s elbow, the black fabric straining where it pulled.

“I am invested in you, Yuri. I want you. And I want you to want me, and I regret not admitting that to myself before.”

They stood that way for a few eternal moments before Yuri huffed out a discontented breath.

“I’m really not into your emotional constipation, Altin.”

“You called me Beka before.”  Otabek replied. “I liked it.”

Yuri stepped away, removing their contact. “What is this? Fuck, you’re like a schizoid. Everything is how you want it, when you do or don’t. I’m not…”

He intervened. “I know. I have reflected a lot since you left, and I realised it too. So I won’t ask you for anything other than your professional services. But I want you to know that I am…dedicated to you now. I fought against it, but I am no longer doing so.  And if and when you change your mind to trust me once more, I will be waiting.”

Yuri glared while Otabek stood before it, willing and sure.

 “I kissed someone else.”

The water in Otabek’s veins froze, then burned. “You did what?”

The man went on, unrepentant. “I’m not telling you to hurt you, cos I’m not that low. And not because I think I owe you either. But I want to say something here too. You insisted that I couldn’t know what I wanted until I tried other items on the menu. Well I did, and I didn’t like it. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be coming back to your bullshit.”

Otabek was suspired at his own anger. It stilled his body, but inside it roiled around like a wild thing. “Where was this?”

“Like I said, not your concern.” Yuri said. Quick as a snake, he reached in and took the burner phone from Otabek’s inner pocket. “I have a commission to fill. I’ll think about your proposal.”

This time, Otabek didn’t stop him as he walked away.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for typos. 
> 
> Any theme songs you guys think of are welcome :)


	17. 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Um....stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you ever so much to @storylover92 for helping me edit this chapter and making it make more sense. Having a person check my stuff is really, so very helpful *weep*
> 
> It's a long one, which is why it took so long to write.
> 
> We are in the final stretch now guys!

“What?” Yuri growled at his client, whose dour face was pulled into a tight frown.

“I withdraw my employment. You may keep the merchandise.” She elaborated.

“This is very bad business.” He said, tossing the phone onto her desk carelessly. “I did the work, even if you change your mind, you still owe me compensation.” Irritation was evolving into outright anger, and he was going to start getting very rude. Her muscle men stirred in their seats at the other end the small office, but she waved them down.

“I understand your frustration, but events have come to light that change things. I do apologise, I hate being unprofessional.”

“What events?” Yuri said clenching a fist. If Otabek thought it clever to interfere…

“Your previous…employer? I’m not sure I can call him that, since I doubt Yaakov ever kept you on any sort of payroll. The way you clasp after money now is indicative of that.”

Yuri felt his anger drain out through his feet. She saw his stunned reaction and nodded, a touch regretfully.

“I’m afraid, Ice Tiger, that I am not so powerful as to go up against Yaakov Feltsman, nor his underdogs.”

Yuri looked closely at her then, and imagined he saw the glimmer of fear in the way she refused to meet his eyes, the corner of her eyes.

“What did he say?” Yuri asked quietly.

“He had put out a warning; if anyone tries to hire you and use your services, he will be…displeased. He has already made that clear.”

This time she beckoned to a third man, smaller than the other two but dressed the same. When he came close she ordered him to roll up his sleeve. Bile rose in Yuri’s throat when he saw the neat circle of lighter burns, made in the shape of a flower. He imagined Babicheva pinning the man down as she patiently heated the lighter to searing heat, placed it to flesh until it singed, and doing it again five more time until the artwork was complete.

“Well, he still has his fingers.” Yuri said eventually, earning his a glare.

“I am not willing to risk his malice or madness, Tiger.” The woman said as her underlings rolled his sleeve back and walked away.

“I understand.” Yuri said on an exhale. He gestures to the phone. “Keep it. I went through all that anyway. It’s not like I need it.”

“But you could sell it to someone else.” She objected as he turned to leave.

“No, not really.”

 

-8-

 

In the small, seedy hotel he set the phone to speaker as he packed. It picked up on the first ring, which Yuri felt was both annoying and gratifying.

“I’m accepting to offer.” He said as he found his shoes, yanking them onto his feet. “Where do I meet you?”

Otabek’s voice was even. “Do you want to negotiate compensation?”

“Can we do that on the plane? I need to get off the ground ASAP.” He replied, zipping the tote up and reaching for the phone. He switch it back to normal mode as he left the room, bag over his shoulder.

“Why?” Otabek asked, tone instantly sharper.

“I’m surprised you don’t know already.” Yuri huffed, making a quick pace down the stairs. “Yaakov has effectively cut off my hands, and Babicheva wants to _really_ cut off my hands. Can we consider that part of the compensation?”

“You work for me, and in return I prevent you from being killed?”

“Sounds annoyingly familiar.”

There was a brief silence on the other end, and Yuri crossed the road, looking over his shoulder and in every dark corner he saw.

“Good. Can you get to the industrial quarter?”

“Yes.”

“Sezim will get you there.”

Yuri threw his bag into the taxi he’d flagged down. “Already on my way.”

 

-8-

 

“Can you please sit the fuck down?” Yuri growled, but with a smile. He was after all, crouched on the man’s chest. His victim coughed and eyes blinking out blood,  fixing on that smile.

“You look creepy.” Sezim said behind him, amused.

Yuri flipped him off over his shoulder. “I am fucking charming.”

“Not in this world, you aren’t.” Sezim said. “Come on, he needs to be able to use his tongue. And breathe.”

Yuri stood abruptly, using the man’s chest like a trampoline and bounced off. He wasn’t as big as the other guy, but he wasn’t a ‘fairy’ any longer. Add that he knew just the right place to put his feet, the right way to limit the passage of air in very accurate ways.  As he stepped away, tapping his ash as he went, Sezim turned to follow.

“You were wasted on Yaakov.”

“Everyone is wasted on me.” he replied, throwing the comment out as he passed Otabek, standing at the entryway, without glancing at him. “Can you get what you need?”

Otabek glanced boredly at the man now curling in on himself, holding the back of his head where it had hit the concrete. “We have most of the codes from his brother. It should be fine. Though I still doubt you needed to use quite so much force.”

“When the carrot doesn’t work, the stick will.” Yuri shrugged.

“We hadn’t even offered a carrot, yet.”

“And now you have a spare carrot for the next idiot.” Yuri replied with an elaborate shrug.

“Eh,” Sezim added, glancing back. “He does seem the type who understand force better than carrots, Boss.”

Yuri cocked a finger gun at his fellow bodyguard, and gave Otabek an arched look. “See? He gets it.”

As Yuri left to finish his smoke outside, leaving Sezim and Otabek to finish the interrogation he’d streamlined, he reflected that he hadn’t realised the extent to which Otabek truly didn’t like violence. He preferred quiet negotiation, the exchange of words and money, favours being tallied and owed. Violence was an unfortunate addition to his dealings. To Yuri, who had grown up in a world that spoke more with fists and wrote decisions in blood, it was as simple as breathing.

The fact that he had to hire Yuri at all spoke to the intensity of their current work.

However, he did try his best to keep it brief. For both their sakes. Speaking for himself, he preferred not to drag things out, to decide on his outcome and achieve it as quickly as possible. Violence and pain served a purpose for him, and only that. But it didn’t escape him the way Otabek turned his head away each time, or removed himself from the situation until the frenzy had died. Unfortunately, Yuri had seen it from the moment he laid eyes on this particular informant, that the only way he was going to get the point was to start with a roundhouse smack to the skull.

A moment later, his latest employer stepped out with Sezim following. Otabek straightened an already straight shirt cuff.

“Done.”

“It was very quick.” Sezim told Yuri as he fell into step beside them.

“Gosh, I wonder why.” Yuri replied flatly. Sezim grinned wide, but Yuri only saw the back of Otabek’s head.

 

-8-

 

**London**

Yuri found he liked men’s clubs, but he didn’t like the men who frequented them. They were often old, often fat and far too snobbish for a personality like Yuri’s to tolerate. When Otabek had told him he would accompanying him to one, he chose his most outrageous outfit, which was to say a button down silk shirt covered in leopard print, with belled black sleeves and finished off with black leather pants that laced up the sides.

“You look like Michael Flatly.” Sezim had said as he slid into the passenger seat.

“Whoever he is, he has good taste.” Yuri replied making Sezim snicker. Circumspectly, Yuri googled the name as they drove, and had mixed feelings about the result, but he wasn’t about to prove Sezim right. If he had any doubts about his choice of outfit, they were dispelled quickly as he followed Otabek into the club and eyes turned to watch them, him. He’d left a single braid but the rest of hair hung loose, and he was very pleased with its length. He split his direction from Otabek’s when the man waved a hand, leaning against the bar and ordering his drink, keeping eyes on Otabek. He watched as he sat opposite another man, both in claw footed wing back chairs.

Yuri took in the meet. An older man, silvered hair, peppered with black, chin a bit soft and eyes dropping slightly. He wore a day suit, which told Yuri he had a day job which he may have left to attend the meeting, but it was a very expensive cut, tailored to longer, thinner legs. Leather boat shoes stuck out from skinny ankles as he crossed his legs and pulled on a cigar which was lit by the man who stood at his side. Yuri judged him to be in the same position as himself, which was that of tacit threat, present security. There was no way Yuri could know if the man was his match or not, but Otabek had said it probably wouldn’t come to that. Yuri was there in a kind of insurance against potential violence, not as a promise of it.

“Hey beautiful.”

Yuri glanced very quickly at the man suddenly brazenly in his personal bubble. “Not interested.”

“Come on, you haven’t even heard my line.” The man leered, close enough that Yuri could smell the alcohol on his breath. He had found British men to be more open about their preferences, but honestly, in a men’s club? There were better places.

“Still don’t care.” Yuri replied, eyes not leaving the muted interaction between Otabek and his meet. “Not interested. Fuck off.”

“You’ve got a mouth on you.” The idiot went on. “So do I. let’s see what they can do together.”

This time Yuri had to turn his head, if only to express with his expression better than with words. It wasn’t as if Yuri hadn’t been hit on before, and free from the constraint of his puritanical environment in Russia, he managed to flounder through it the first few times. But ultimately, he found it very tiresome and silly. Being roundabout, not simply saying outright your thoughts felt very stupid to him. But this was really…

“That’s your line?” Yuri said. “You’re ridiculous and drunk. Fuck off, or I will make you.”

“You can always make me-“ he was cut off by the bartender.

“Alright John, that’s enough. This isn’t the place, yeah?” he carefully took the man’s empty glass from his hand. “If you don’t back off, I’m going to have to call security.”

Yuri snorted, glancing back at Otabek’s meeting, and seeing him glare directly at them. He shrugged and mouthed ‘what?’ before turning back to the drunk.

“I’m working. Even if I wasn’t, picking anyone up in a men’s club when you’re drunk is tacky. Go away.”

The bartender sniggered and shrugged. “You heard him, John. Off you trot.”

As the disgruntled man wobbled away, Yuri spared the bartender a brief nod before turning back to the job in hand. He saw Otabek brush a finger against his temple, a minor gesture but for Otabek Altin a significant thing. Yuri’s eyes lazered, trying to unravel the story from visual alone. The man opposite him was grinning, his skin folding back on itself and making his chin disappear some more. Then Otabek said something and the smile dropped, replaced with a pouting scowl. He shook his head, his cigar hand tensing, absently tapping ash from its tip.

“You’re a fool if you think I’ll cave in so easily.” The man’s voice was raised enough in the quiet room to carry to Yuri’s ears. Otabek replied with something else, still quietly composed, which apparently was more incendiary than anything else. The pepper haired man lunged forward in his seat, angry.

“Bastard. What makes you think you can make that kind of demand on me?”

Yuri watched the guard shift then, his fingers slipping into sleeves and decided he should earn his keep. He sauntered over quickly, and came to a stop behind Otabek’s chair, leaning an arm carelessly on the one wing, and grinning.

“Hello.” He said without a smile, eyes connecting with the guard then nodding to where his fingers were already touching the edge of a blade. “You should put that away.”

The pepper haired man transferred his glare from Otabek to Yuri. “Who is this? Wait…” his eyes narrowed then he tched, sinking back into his chair. “I know who you are, Yuri Plisetsky. Or whatever you go by these days.”

Yuri tilted his head with mock interest. “What gave it away?”

“Your heinous fashion sense.” The older man bit back, obviously nettled. Yuri shrugged.

“Be careful, your jealousy is showing.”

He looked back to Otabek. “This is the man you are entrusting with your safety? He’s a common thief.”

“ _Excuse me_ -“ Yuri started but Otabek held up a hand.

“My bodyguard is not the topic of conversation. Though he wouldn’t even be here if I could trust you to recall the nature of a bargain we made.”

“That bargain was made two years ago.” The other man gritted, fingers curling around the chair arm. “I could hardly be expected to remember-“

“If you cannot remember, I can have the contract shown to you. Bargains have no expiry date.” Otabek replied calmly.

Yuri couldn’t see Otabek’s face, but he could easily imagine the impassive expression he had, while the older man fumed quietly.

“It’s a heavy favour you ask of me, Altin.” He said eventually.

“No, the heavy favour was the one I did for you. When I erased all evidence of your mistress’s misdemeanour from police record and removed her from prison. What I am asking for now, is repayment, which, in spite of your protests, I know you must have been expecting.”

“Because Altin always collects on his debt.”

“Just so.”

Yuri had locked eyes with the other guard, who was as expressionless as a mannequin and just as interesting to look at. He didn’t miss the way the man’s fingers fidgeted. Amateur.

“Gabris will be very…displeased with me.” the older man replied then, a small tight shot of angry fear in his tone.

“That is not my concern. Unless you want to make another deal.”

“You are just like the devil.”

“Hardly. The devil would demand your soul, which I have zero interest in. And besides, if I was you, I would be more afraid of me than you are of Gabris.”

“You should be.” Yuri added lightly.

“I am _afraid_ of the repercussions of my refusal.” The man sneered.

“Then you’re not a total idiot.” Yuri replied before Otabek could, unable to stop himself. It earned him a daggered glare.

“Could you shut up?” The man was exasperated with Yuri. Yuri couldn’t have cared less.  

Yuri was patting his pants before realising he had no pockets and thus no smokes. “I don’t know. Could you grow a chin?”

“You little-“

“Yuri.” Otabek said in small warning, making him roll his eyes.

“I left my smokes in the car. I’m antsy.”

To his surprise, Otabek dipped into his suit pocket and pulled out the pack he’d thought he’d left behind. It was handed it over to him and as he took it, Yuri caught sight of the cat brooch, perched on his collar, a gaudy thing against the sombre charcoal black.

“Thanks.” He muttered, pulling one out with his teeth and the flicking the lighter with his other hand.

“Your breeding is so plain.” The older man sneered at him as he lit up. Yuri snapped the lighter closed and blew out a cloud of thoughtful smoke.

“You’re one to talk.” He said, tapping at his own chin. “Your parent’s cousins by any chance?”

“Yuri.” Otabek warned once more, thought it lacked bite.

“Fine.” Yuri snapped but pointing with his cigarette at the body guard opposite them. “But I’m not leaving because little Mr. Itchy Fingers here is twitching a little too much.”

Otabek turned his attention once more to the man seething in front of him while Yuri kept his eyes on Mr. Twitchy fingers, whose boring face had become twisted in slight annoyance. He was now steadfastly crossing his arms, as if to prove a point. Very much an amateur.

When they climbed back into the car, Otabek asked him to join him in the backseat and Yuri obliged, blowing the last of the smoke out before stamping the butt on the sidewalk.

Instead of the reaming out he was expecting, Otabek murmured a thank you as he readjusted the pin of the cat brooch on his lapel.

“For doing my job?”

“That, yes. Your personal take on the situation was valuable.”

Yuri huffed a laugh. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, Mr. Reynolds is not in the habit of hiring muscle. He was either quite afraid to meet with me, or suspected I wouldn’t bring my own and had other ideas in place, likely attempting some damage to my person. Your presence there…set a good tone.”

“He didn’t seem to like my tone.”

“That’s the point, I think.” Otabek said, turning to face him. “Besides, I like your tone.”

In spite of himself, Yuri’s eyes flicked to the cat then back to Otabek’s gaze, which hadn’t wavered.

“Sezim.” Otabek said without inflection.

“Got you, boss.” The driver answered and a tinted window came up to separate the backseat from the front. When it closed, Yuri cocked an eyebrow.

“Is this the part where you tell me to be more professional?”

 “I have no complaint with your work ethic.”

Yuri felt the hum of the engine under his legs, and an answering hum in his veins as he and Otabek held each other’s gaze. Not a single word had been discussed since that night, not a word about Otabek’s bizarre confession. But there were little things Yuri found hard to ignore; the brooch, the cigarettes, the carte Blanche Otabek gave him when it came to a job that needed to be done. Never mind his own feelings on the matter. He simply couldn’t believe that it could be this simple with other people. Not even with Viktor had it felt so seamless, to work with another person. Yuri had always felt that solo work was better for him, he didn’t play well with others and had always chafed slightly under the observation of a ‘boss’. But Otabek never lorded his status, or acknowledged any at all. Working with Otabek felt as simple as breathing.

“What occurred at the bar?” Otabek broke into his musings, and after a brief moment of surprise, Yuri chuckled.

“Some drunk idiot trying a line.” He explained briefly. “It was terrible.”

“He was flirting with you.” Otabek said, and it was somewhere between a statement and a question.

“If you could call it that.” Yuri shrugged. “Why are we talking about this?”

Yuri was arrested then, by the completely alien intensity on Otabek’s face. It bore something Yuri thought was frighteningly strange in a man so usually placid, whose only claim to extreme emotion was anxiety, and even that was a tempered thing. Now, his eyes _burned_.

Yuri felt it spark and ignited something inside the centre of his chest.

“Yuri.” Otabek said in a low voice, closing his eyes against some inner force Yuri couldn’t see.

“Otabek?” Yuri said, instantly aware, concern shooting through him like cold water. “Beka? Are you ok? Is it your arms?”

This time the look on Otabek’s face made Yuri back up against the seat.

“No, you fool.” The man growled. “I would prefer it if you flirted with other men where I couldn’t see it, from now on.”

Yuri frowned, hackles rising. “I wasn’t _flirting_ , asshole. _He_ was flirting with _me_. And he was drunk.”

“Still.”

“Still what?” Yuri shot back, his anger a tight, twanging thing suddenly. “If you don’t like what you see, close your damn eyes. It’s not like I invited him over.”

“That problem is I _do_ like what I see.”

Suddenly, there was no space between them, Otabek’s wider frame has shifted quickly over the seat and his hands were pushed into Yuri’s hair, firm, just this side of painful, and grey eyes were all he could see.

“The problem is, I do like what I see.” Otabek repeated. “I see it in front of me now, and again in the darkness behind my eyes. And I don’t like that other people see it too.”

Yuri found his breath choppy, he scrambled internally to find some sort of purchase over the slide of his brain. But Otabek’s smooth hands were pressing into his scalp, his breath fresh and close, their thighs pressed tight against each other.

But still, he was always himself.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he hissed out. “I didn’t say you could touch me.”

Instantly his head was dropped, and his skin missed the pressure. But Otabek hadn’t retreated far. He face hovered close.

“Yuri, I want to kiss you.”

“Why? Because you saw someone else try?”

Grey eyes were steel. “Because I always want to kiss you, since Manilla. And since you told me that you kissed someone else…” a hard breath. “It hurts, to think those lips have touched someone besides mine.”

Yuri was baffled, realisation dropping like a lead weight. “Oh my god, you’re jealous?”

Otabek blinked at him. “Unbearably.”

Yuri stared, still battling against himself and the flush of desire that rolled through his body. But he still couldn’t trust it, him or Beka or anything. He shook his head and Otabek moved himself backwards, a proper retreat, and his regret so clear on his face. But Yuri had no idea what to do with something like that.

He couldn’t comprehend it. He couldn’t understand being _wanted_.

“Beka...” he tried but there was nothing to follow it.

Otabek sighed heavily, readjusting his suit jacket needlessly, eyes verted. “It’s alright Yuri. I. Know that things are not as they were.”

Yuri frowned. “The fuck? What _were_ they even, Beka? Clearly we had two very different ideas.”

A very slight head shake. “We did and we didn’t. The fact was this; I was afraid and I acted on that, driving you away in the process which I believed to be the best for us both. However…”

“You realised you were a cocky asshole, yes I got that part.” Yuri interjected.

“Well put.” Otabek acceded without a fight. “I didn’t lie to you the other night, Yuri. I regret my actions then, and I was wrong. I realise that…I fucked up.”

“Yes,” Yuri said emphatically.

“But I am determined to prove that I know my own mind now.” Otabek fixed him with a sincere stare. “I want you, Yuri. That is the truth.”

It was a difficult thing to comprehend. “You want me today. What about tomorrow?”

“I will want you for all of the tomorrows.”

Yuri finally had to admit to himself that the current waters he was swimming in were a little too deep and if he didn’t find something solid soon, he would drown. End of Yuri Plisetsky. He folded his arms.

“Ok.”

Stunned silence. “Ok?”

“OK.” Yuri repeated. “Not, ‘everything is sunshine and rainbow fucking cupcakes now’. Just ‘ok, I’ve heard you, now I’m going to think.’”

More silence.

“Ok.”

 

-8-

 

Yuri swore loud in Russian, finding that English curse words did not quite fulfil the trick this time. But Sezim, clutched the open maw in his side and heaved himself upright with a small grunt.

“What the fuck was that?” he said as Yuri pulled an arm over his shoulder and started them in the right direction.

“A shotgun. Like in the cartoons.” Yuri told him beginning to pant. Fuck the man was heavy. “Come on, I can’t take you back to the party like this.”

“It would be messy.”

“Hilarious.”

As they hobbled in the direction of the car, where Gregor was waiting, Yuri dialled. Otabek picked up after a single ring.

“Watch out, we hit a booby trap, they’ll know something is up.” He warned into the phone and heard Otabek hum in response.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine, but Sezim has a new hole. Know any doctors in Lichtenstein?”

“Several.” Otabek’s voice was smooth as silk, against the background noise of party. Yuri could hear the wash of laughter, the clink of glasses on trays.

“Great. I’ll leave him with Greg and come for you.”

“Noted.” And the line went dead.

Luckily, the hobble to the car wasn’t long, and Gregor’s odd face was suffused with concern as he took Sezim from Yuri, with instructions to call Otabek and get directions to the nearest medical help.

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it work.”

 Yuri knew how to hotwire a car, vaguely, but first he had to get back into the building where Otabek was still rubbing elbows with other rich folk. He had better get his job done quickly, because Yuri and Sezim’s attempts at gaining access to the locked room had gone awry and it wouldn’t take long for whoever’s safe it was to make the connection. Otabek was quiet in his work, but news had gotten around. Altin had paired up with the Ice tiger and they were gathering favours, and where favours weren’t to be had, other methods were employed. And since Yuri had his own reputation, it wasn’t a huge leap of imagination to figure out what methods those were. Otabek’s contact would be on the lookout tonight, and once he realised Yuri had been trying to break into his vault, he would go directly to Altin, who had decided he would try to bargain for what he wanted anyway at a secluded dinner club. Which meant that right then, Otabek was a sitting duck.

Yuri moved fast, ever mindful of the fact that Otabek still had to prove he was any good at defending himself if It came down to it. But this charter they were on…it involved Yaakov and Viktor and Katsuki and the war of it had stirred up all the mouldy leaves of the world they lived in. Knife like smiles watched them all, bargains were made, and wagers as to who would win. It was as much entertainment as education for those who weren’t actively part of it. It also meant that information was becoming more expensive, and dangerous.

Yuri tched to himself. He shouldn’t have listened to Otabek and let him go alone.

He found Otabek at the bar, in conversation with another man, who was leaning too close. Yuri’s feet knew better, and moved fast as he watched the man pull a thin silver knife from somewhere on his person as he spoke, hiding in the palm of his hand. Yuri got there before he could move again, wrenching the man’s arm out and up behind him back, hiding the action with his body and snarling in his ear.

“Drop it, or I’ll break your hand.”

Breaking someone’s hand was not a simple thing to do without a lot of weight behind it, and Yuri would have found it difficult if pressed. But he was fortunate when the man’s hand loosed enough for the thin blade to fall out, and he caught it before it hit the floor, and snuck it away into his own jeans.

“I’m going to let go now. And you’re going to walk away, very politely and quietly. Got it?”

A nod and Yuri let him loose. The tension in the man’s shoulder eased and he immediately brought his hand around to massage the wrist Yuri had twisted. He spared him a brief glare before walking away, likely back to his patron.

Yuri nodded to Otabek. “We have to go, now.”

Wordlessly, Otabek followed Yuri out towards the plush atrium but immediately, Yuri was blocked by another man with a look of all too casual innocence on his face.

“My employer asks that you don’t leave so soon.” He said, a thin man with very blue eyes and white blonde hair.

“Such a shame, but I’m not dressed the part.” Yuri said, indicating his faded jeans and hoodie. He clearly had not intended to come to the actual party. “My boyfriend here is so damn embarrassed.”

The blonde’s eyes flicked from him to Otabek, then laughed a little amused. “It’s not a problem. Perhaps then, I can take you to one of the private rooms, to get changed.”

Yuri could see from the corner of his eye another body moving towards them too slow and deliberate to be just another guest. He sighed.

“Look, if you don’t get out of our way, things are going to get theatrical. In painful ways.”

The tall blonde man was unimpressed. “I have heard plenty about you Ice Tiger, and I am very sure it’s all talk.”

“The fuck you say-“ He started but was abruptly cut off when he felt a yank on his arm. He turned to see Otabek dragging him by the elbow.

“Come.” Otabek said tensely.

“Where?” Yuri said, looking back over his shoulder, where the man and his fellow blond were looking after them, amusement gone and frowning.

“A way out. Follow my lead.”

Yuri felt himself swung around and was suddenly facing Otabek.

“Hands here,” he was told and hands placed against Otabek’s waist, “and here.”

Music started and Otabek stepped forward, forcing Yuri to step blindly backwards. The steel bar of Otabek’s hand on his lower back kept him from falling, and he felt himself being directed.

“Stop resisting me and follow my lead.” Otabek told when he stumbled again.

“I don’t know how to dance.” Yuri hissed, feeling eyes on them and his face heating.

“ _I do_.” Otabek said with equal fervour. “Now trust me.”

They were supposed to be fleeing for their lives, and Yuri was supposed to be keeping Otabek safe, but here they were dancing.  But he saw the blond man at the edge of the dance floor, watchful, and he realised that this plan was as good as any. He gave him, expelling a breath and let Otabek lead.

“Finally.” Otabek breathed and Yuri flashed him a vicious look, feeling like a complete idiot. Otabek only had that stupid ghost smile in response, to Yuri’s shock. But adrenaline was coursing through his veins and there was something unavoidably delicious about being there, in this ridiculousness of the situation on the fucking dance floor.

“Apart from being the only male couple on the dance floor,” Yuri muttered. “This is so clichéd.”

“It’s working though.” Otabek replied, twisting them in a tight spin that would have had Yuri’s feet confused if Otabek’s hand wasn’t controlling the movement.

“Stop looking at your feet.”

“I’m looking at the men trying to lure us into their kill room, you ass.” Yuri shit back. As they turned again, Yuri caught sight of their pursuers, still on the edge of the ring. Apart from that, they were definitely attracting the attention of the general public. Yuri looked away, eyes trying to find exits.

“Don’t worry about them.” Otabek told him.

“I’m not.” Yuri replied. “I’m looking for our next move.”

Otabek spun them again, perfectly in unison with the beat and Yuri grinned in spite of himself.

“Stop enjoying this.”

“It’s difficult not to, I’ll admit.”

Otabek pulled him closer, and Yuri got a nose full of his cologne. He leaned into the next movement, letting Otabek’s arm be his support as they swung. The upbeat of the music made the curl of their bodies come closer for a moment, and this time Otabek’s smile was too obvious.

“Very.” Yuri agreed. “You should have warned me, I would have dressed better. I have this tiger shirt I’ve been looking for a reason to wear.”

“You need a reason?” Otabek’s half smiled caught Yuri like a hook.

“It’s an expensive shirt. And not subtle.”

“Yes, you do subtlety so well.”

“Fuck you.” Yuri replied without rancour. “And as fun as this is, the song is going to end and we still have to get out of here.”

“I see a door.”

Yuri had spotted the same one, and though it was the opposite side of the room, it looked like their only option. His briefly good mood sank, becoming serious.

“It’s too obvious. They’ll have it blocked.”

Otabek’ body was stiff even as he moved them liquidly across the floor. “I have a gun.”

“You have a what?!” was Yuri’s shocked reply. Otabek’s mouth had gone thin.

“As a precaution.”

Yuri’s hand slid closer around Otabek’s back, and he felt the piece hidden there. Otabek must have been more worried than he let on, to risk something than bore so much violence in its very structure. “Idiot.”

“So you’ve said. So, what do we do now?”

Yuri assessed and came to a decision. He instructed Otabek to slide them to the left side of the room as one song bled into the next, mindful that their movements were being followed and instead of leading to the far door, went back toward the entrance. As he was about to be intercepted by blond #1, he stole a glass of wine from the woman next to him, threw it in her face then grabbed her shoulders, swinging her into the man’s path as she shrieked. He lost no momentum and trusted Otabek was following as he threaded through the people between them and the door. #2 was close then, and this time Yuri launched himself forward, using his most juvenile move, which was to kick him very hard in the shin. It was effective though, unexpected and painful, and Yuri’s hand slid into his jacket and found what he had expected to. The longer dagger came out smoothly and he slashed once at the man’s leg, cutting instantly through the fabric, before his arms blurred and buried the knife to the hilt in his shoulder blade.

This time there were many more screams. And they managed to escape out the front door into icy night air. Yuri chose the closest car, which happened to be a daffodil yellow ford that didn’t look too flashy.

“Gun.” He said to Otabek, holding out his hand, and he handed it over without a word. Yuri used the butt of the weapon to smack the four corners of the driver window hard, before landing a final, hard blow to its centre, which shattered the glass. He still had to remove his jacket and use it as a glove as he peeled the smashed fragments of glass from its frame, it came away like diamonds, and cut through the fabric of his synthetic jacket at the last. Yuri sucked at the cut briefly as he unlocked the door and got in.

Otabek got into the passenger seat, while Yuri dug around under the steering rack, wrenching open the panel to bear its cabled underbelly.

“Should have kept the knife.” He muttered.

“Will this help?”

Otabek held out a butter knife and shrugged at Yuri’s incredulous look.

“Just in case.”

“In case what?” Yuri laughed as he took the piece of metal and went back to his work. “You had to butter an emergency slice of bread?”

“Or jack a car.”

“Don’t assume things. I haven’t quite figured this out yet.”

But Yuri did manage to get the right cable cut and retied, hissing at the spark, but the engine growled into life just as some more dangerous looking men came rushing out of the building they’d left.

Yuri laughed, hard and loud, as the cold air crystallised in his lungs.

 

-8-

 

 Otabek directed them to the place where he’d sent Gregor and Sezim, which was, to Yuri’s surprise, a small clinic. Apparently Otabek had connections with a doctor who didn’t mind midnight calls and working off the books.

“Aren’t you handy?” Yuri offered with a small smile as both he and Otabek stood in the small parking bay outside, while Yuri made clouds with his breathe and smoke. They seemed denser in the night air, thick and almost tangible.

“With a butter knife.” Otabek replied. And Yuri laughed again, amazed at how it sounded, elastic and free, clear as a bell. The adrenaline hadn’t quite left his system, and he still felt effervescent, as real and corporeal and large as the crescent moon, as sharp as its points. In spite of Sezim being stitched up, which he was taking with good humour, and their blunder, he couldn’t feel like the night was a waste. There was just too much good about it.

“Sorry we didn’t get your codes.” He said.

“I suppose it can be done without for now.” Otabek replied, seeming unworried about its loss. His hook smile still lingered in the corner of his mouth and Yuri’s eyes kept finding it.

“Beka,” Yuri said eventually. “Please don’t play with guns.”

Otabek was leaning against a pillar that supported the parking lots roof, arms crossed against the cold head tilted sideways, and Yuri reflected they looked so very mundane then. Like people who just went about the everyday business of grocery shopping, and daytime jobs and drinks after work. The man rolled his head to look at Yuri.

“I know how to shoot a gun.” He informed with a barely straight face.

“When is the last time you pulled a trigger?” baited Yuri.

After a thoughtful silence Otabek finally answered. “Alright, I promise not to use guns.”

Yuri stamped his feet. His jacket had been left behind with said gun. “I could teach you, if you like. Guns aren’t my favourite but I can at least aim and shoot.”

He blew the last breath of smoke out and bent to stub the butt out on the ground then throw it in the bin nearby. When he straightened up, a jacket settled around his shoulders. He turned to see Otabek close, hands in pockets and wearing a different kind smile now.

“Pleas Yuri.” He asked quietly. “Just once, can I kiss you?”

It wasn’t jealousy, or ownership or lust this time. It was a request.

It was the look in his eyes that told Yuri that Otabek was half expecting him to say no, and asking anyway.

“And then? Why just one?”

“Because then I know that you’ll come back to me eventually.”

“That’s a big promise for one kiss.”

But Otabek wasn’t deterred. His face was hopeful, his stance patient. Yuri could easily shrug the coat off and walk away.

But…

“Yes.”

Otabek’s arms closed around him without waiting for more, and it was different now. The kiss was clumsy, eager and from Yuri’s point of view, happy.

He hadn’t had many experiences with ‘happy’.

When Otabek finally let him go, he looked unexpectedly vulnerable.

“You taste like cigarettes.”

“You kissed me anyway.” Yuri pointed out.

“I would again.” Otabek replied. “But we aren’t alone, and I don’t really want to stop next time.”

Yuri snickered, but it deflated a bit. His fingers threaded between the Otabek’s belt and waist band and pulled gently.

“Um…” Yuri said quietly, looking down. “I have to say this though. Don’t do that again. What happened in Manilla. Tonight was fun and dangerous and stupid, but if you’re still gonna fuck around with me, if you still have fucking issues-“

“No.” Otabek interjected harshly. “Yuri, I know what I want. Do you?”

Yuri swallowed, still very intent on the floor at his feet, but he didn’t let go of Otabek’s waistband.

“I always did.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs:  
> Loud(y) by Lewis del Mar  
> Clint Eastwood by Gorillaz  
> Certain things by James Arthur  
> Young and Beautiful by Lana del Ray


	18. 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance. This chapter felt a little stilted for me because I basically wrote it for day, with way too many distractions.  
> Also, you know when you read someone elses writing and it's so good it hurts and then you suddenly think, 'Shit, wtf am I doing?' Yeah, that happened too.   
> Rough week guys.

“Your arm needs to be straight. And turn your chest towards the target, this isn’t some television show.” Yuri explained, turning Otabek’s shoulders with his hands to demonstrate. But no matter what he did, Otabek still held the piece like it was about to grow legs and eyes. He sighed.

“This is a waste of time. You’re afraid of the gun.”

Otabek’s resting face twisted into a slight frown. “I disagree. I can shoot.”

Yuri crossed his arms and gave Otabek a sceptical look. “Fine. Shoot then.”

Otabek took a moment to silently gather whatever internal strength he needed, the pulled the trigger twice, in quick succession. He missed the target completely, but he shot. However, Yuri’s suspicions were confirmed when he then laid the gun down on the counter, and pulled his earmuffs off, his mouth in a thin disappointed line.

“You’re right.” He admitted grudgingly. “I’ve never liked guns.”

Yuri shrugged, patting the small of his back in an oddly intimate gesture, then quickly removed his hand. “Guns aren’t for everyone. Me, I like knives.”

Otabek shook his head. “No, I think its weapons in general that I don’t like. I use my words and my intellect to get what I want.

“And when those don’t work, you’ve got Sezim and Gregor and all the other overly muscled men on your payroll.” Yuri replied, taking the pistol from him and flipping the safety back on.

“Exactly how many people do you think I actually employ?”

“I don’t know. A doctor in every other country, people to watch your plane, shady policemen…” Yuri said, putting his own ear-muffs down beside Otabek’s and making his way to the door. Otabek fell into step beside him, looking more than happy to give up on the day’s lesson in controlled violence. “A lot? Twenty? Fifty?”

Otabek seemed to cover his mouth to hide a smile, but Yuri couldn’t be sure. “Yuri, no. I have perhaps five people on permanent employment, including yourself. A few more on certain dispensation, that’s all.”

They came out to the front desk of the gun range, and Yuri ignored the surprised look the desk clerk gave him at coming out again so soon. He handed over the gun and got back his deposit, only answering when they were outside once more.

“Seriously? Ok, I didn’t know that. I guess I just…” he paused then laughed. “In such an idiot. I assumed that every criminal organisation is like Yaakov’s. Or Katsuki’s. I actually don’t really understand what you do at all, now that I think about it.”

Otabek offered a small, closed mouth smile. “Clearly.”

“I guess that makes us even. Since you know shit about hurting or killing.”

“I didn’t say that. I just don’t like it.”

Yuri hailed a taxi, which was not a terribly difficult thing to do in California. “I don’t like it much either to be honest.”

Otabek glanced at him over the top of the taxi roof as he opened the door. “Then why are you so eager for it?”

Yuri paused at his door too, looking Otabek dead in the eye. “In not eager. I just want it to be over. It’s something I happened to be good at, and so I was trained how to be even better at it. But I’ve never enjoyed it.”

They both got into the taxi, quiet, and thoughtful.

It wasn’t until they reached the hangar that Otabek spoke again.

“So…what do you like?”

Yuri, whose train of thought had travelled very far from their conversation at this point, had to think hard before he understood. Then he had to think some more.

“Uh…I…don’t know.” Yuri replied, surprising himself. In all his life he hadn’t had much time to think about what he enjoyed personally, or indulge properly in that which he did. He had liked Viktor, loved his grandfather, liked living with Viktor…but for the most part, he only knew what he _didn’t like_.

As they settled into the plush seats of jet plane, now so familiar to Yuri that he barely noticed them as luxurious, he answered.

“I like cats.” He said. “And choosing my own clothes. When I was young I liked ice skating.” He met Otabek’s attentive gaze. “I like you.”

He curled in on himself, legs folded beneath him as the plane began its take off, happy in the silence.

 

-8-

 

In an unusual situation of feeling words literally stuck in his throat, Otabek focussed on remaining in his seat, still watching Yuri.

How could the man toss these kinds of words out so simply? As if their value was nothing? Or simply that for him truth was truth, without degree, and so he could say it honestly that he enjoyed Otabek, when he enjoyed little else.

The man was graceful, even as he sat in a contained ball on the seat opposite, observing the changing scene outside the window, head tipped back against the seat back, green eyes alight with the setting suns light. A loose white tank decorated with neon pink tigers, cut-off jeans and shoes tossed carelessly to the floor. Otabek marvelled at the change he saw in Yuri, even after so short a time out of Yaakov’s shadow. The man bent the world around him, until everything else was background.

Breathless, Otabek found himself incapable of saying anything in return, all words that had originally come to mind evaporated. Still coming to terms with the intensity of his feelings when it came to Yuri, he kept himself in check, even though all of his inner voices were urging him to disregard space and respect and the desire of give Yuri time and feel Yuri’s body crushed against his.

It was more than that too, though. It was the need to treasure, to caress, and to endure to draw closer. And all of that was so overwhelmingly alien to Otabek that he found himself paralysed by it. So he sat, drinking in the sight of the man opposite, hands clenched in some unnamed effort. Since that night, where Yuri had conceded to try once more, to allow Otabek his mistake, they hadn’t spoken of it. But there were small things that spoke of the distance breached. A lingering touch of the hand when exchanging a glass, a thoughtless hand to his back, assessing looks exchanged in silence. Otabek wasn’t a complete stranger to flirtation, but he was in new waters here and couldn’t confirm or deny if that was what was happening.  But he hoped, surged towards the attention.

He had never desired someone as profoundly as he desired Yuri Plisetsky.

He suddenly found himself needing to be alone, since his mind and his body were too intimately linked and he was unaccustomed to restraint when it came to sex. It was a little beneath his dignity to relieve himself, but he refused to push anything that wasn’t right quite yet. He preferred to take his cues from Yuri.

He had to wait for the plane to level before he could get up, which didn’t help, and he cursed human bodily chemicals in the meantime. Yuri was as unaffected as always, staring almost sleepily outside, seemingly oblivious to Otabek’s mounting discomfort. As soon as it was safe, he unbuckled his belt and got up, which was of course the exact time Yuri finally redirected his attention back to him.

“SO, about Russia-“

But Otabek hadn’t turned in time and Yuri had seen, and suddenly Otabek experienced another relatively new emotion; embarrassment.

But of course, Yuri had no personal filter on that kind of thing.

“Are you hard?” he asked, astonishment clear, his eyes skating between Otabek’s face and his crotch.

Giving in and unwilling to stand, he reversed back into his seat. “I’m sorry.”

The sparkle in Yuri’s eyes was both hopeful and completely unhelpful. “Is that something you’re supposed to apologise for?”

“I usually have better self-control.” Otabek sighed, rubbing at his face. “I…”

Yuri had an impossible grin in the corner of his mouth. “You’re embarrassed aren’t you?”

“Never more so than this exact moment.”

To set the final nail in his coffin of mortification, Yuri laughed. It was the sound of it that spurred Otabek to stand again, uncaring that his shame was on display, since even Yuri’s laughter couldn’t get his erection to wilt.

“No!” Yuri’s voice followed him as he tried to retreat to the on-board bathroom, still mirthful. “Beka, come on. I’m sorry.”

“No, I am. It’s alright Yuri.”

“Stop running away you idiot.”

Otabek only halted when Yuri’s hand wrapped around his elbow, caught in the funnelled passageway between the seating cabin and the rest of the plane. He turned his head but not his body, looking down at Yuri’s flushed face, still smiling but now shyer.

“Um. I’m sorry. I don’t like being laughed at either. Um, and obviously you wouldn’t…”

It took Otabek a moment to realise that Yuri was as awkward as he was, though for different reasons.

“It’s alright. I…didn’t intend anything. I hope you know that.”

Eyes rolled. “Obviously. You barely come near me since we kissed. You’re like a fucking nun.”

Otabek couldn’t help but grin a little. “Not a ‘fucking’ nun, obviously.”

Yuri blinked. “Ha! No. but you know what I meant…I just. You don’t have to treat me like glass. It’s not like we haven’t...” Yuri’s words dissolved into a ferocious blush that coloured his pale cheeks.

Otabek fought the desire to catch Yuri’s chin and tilt it up, to make that hair swing away from his eyes and see the heat of his face. “Just because we have, doesn’t mean anything now. I meant what I told you. You are important to me, and I don’t want to make any more mistakes with you. But,” he added reluctantly, “I confess that this is still very…frustrating or me. I do not know how to…do this. To wait. How to make you see the truth of my words.”

Yuri huffed out a sigh. “Ok. Look I said I would think…”

“But you still don’t trust me.” Otabek finished for him, which earned him a sharp look.

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to fuck you.”

Once again, words fled, and Otabek’s mercifully flagging erection was back once more, in full force. He made a noise between a cough and a choke.

“Yuri. No. I won’t do anything like that with you, not until you believe me. As much as _I_ want to, or _you_ want to.” Otabek forced himself to say, folding his arms tightly and once again turning his body away from the other man.

“I don’t think you understand who much I want it.” Yuri said and Otabek didn’t even try to stop Yuri from turning his head and pulling him down fir a kiss. His fingers dug into his arms, but his face was in Yuri’s care, tilted so that he could deepen the motion of his jaw, letting Yuri’s tongue slide inside, like a carnal invitation. It wasn’t gentle, or even careful, but Otabek still craved it.

“Yuri.” Otabek said when he was released for air.

“No. you have done way too much telling me ‘what I want’.” Yuri said, finger nails digging into the skin on his neck. “How about _I_ tell _you_ what I want for once.”

“If I let you go further-“

“Why don’t we see instead of you just worrying about it?” Yuri said, scraping his nails along Otabek’s scalp, tracing lines of sensitivity, and pressing his body closer, toughing the part of him that most wanted contact.

Finally Otabek let go of his threadbare control and pushed back, gratefully pining Yuri back against the wall of the small corridor, taking his wrists and laying them flat against its surface.

“I don’t want to be selfish with you.” Otabek whispered against his ear even as he brought his thigh up between Yuri’s and pressed, wanting to hear Yuri’s response. He was thwarted when Yuri merely tossed his head, biting his lip and meeting Otabek’s eyes challengingly.

“Making my decisions for me qualifies as selfish in my book.” Yuri snarled, pushing back against Otabek’s leg wantonly, making his own growing erection obvious. “I’m not asking for…I’m not asking you to fuck me. At least not now.”

Otabek’s eyes were locked on his so intently, leaving so little room between them, drinking in the sight of Yuri angry, wanton and being willingly pinned by his hands. The word ‘fuck’ made his libido jump.

“Then what?” he demanded, needing to know before he spiralled.

Yuri tilted his chin upwards, unabashed.

“I trust you enough to know when to stop.”

That was enough for him. It was more than enough. He descended down Yuri’s neck like he was a starving man, nipping, tasting, and biting.

“I want to tell you how beautiful you are.” Otabek murmured absent his skin.

“Is this pillow talk?” Yuri replied but it was a breathless snap, as he stretched his neck to invite Otabek’s further attentions.

“I want to see this skin in my bed.” He went on. “I want to kiss you until you forget how to curse.”

“Never going to happen.” Yuri laughed into his ear, threading his now loose arms over his shoulders.

“I want to try.”

“I can’t tell if you’re asking permission or not.” Yuri said. “If you are, this is fucked up foreplay.”

Otabek slid his hand down Yuri’s front to close hard over the bulge in his crotch, making his gasp prettily. “How’s this for foreplay?”

“Getting better.” He thrust into Otabek’s hand, his crotch sliding along his leg and Otabek bit back a groan. He had to think. He had to _think._ Not sex, no, he didn’t want that yet, not here on a fucking plane, but he wanted Yuri with such a foggy lust he could barely see through it.

_I trust you enough._

“I want to feel you.” Yuri huffed gruffly into his ear, hot breath clutching to his skin leaving the words that seared.

Gently, he untangle one arm from his hair, and guided Yuri’s hand down to his own erection. He bent his head to Yuri’s shoulder as fingers closed, at first tentative, then pressing hard with his palm. It wasn’t long before Yuri’s hand drifted upward to the band of Otabek’s trousers and halted.

 Otabek nodded before Yuri could ask, and his hands fumbled to undo the button that kept his cock imprisoned. He would have been embarrassed by the way his erection bounced so eagerly into Yuri’s hand, but he was beyond it now. For his part, Yuri told hold instantly, the heat of his palm simultaneously soothing his frustration and goading it on into a delicious ache.

Unexpectedly, Yuri let go then, and pulled away and for a dizzying, horrifying moment Otabek thought he had made a mistake letting this go so far. But when he looked up he saw Yuri staring. Down.

“I didn’t get to see it before.” Yuri breathed. “Uh.”

Confused Otabek leaned away. “What’s wrong?”

Yuri’s met his gaze, then went back to staring at his cock. A finger extended and ran along the raised ridge of a vein, and Yuri watched with cat-like closeness the reaction it caused.

“I mean, I felt it in my hand last time but…” Yuri laughed softly. “Seeing it is another thing.”

Still confused but distracted by the pleasingly gentle touches of fingers stroke along his length, he went in for another kiss. “Is it to your liking?”

Otabek came away enough to see Yuri bite his lip. “I want…”

“What?” at this point, Otabek would do anything for this man. The flush adorning his skin was too beautiful, and he distracted himself by running fingers underneath the lose cotton of his tank, fingers bumping along his ribs and thumbs finding his nipples. Experimentally, he flicked at one with a thumb nail, and saw with pleasure Yuri’s breath hitch and a look of surprise rise on his face.

“What do you want, Yuri. Anything. I’ll give you anything.”

Yuri’s face was unlike his usual self, when he asked;

“Can I…Take you in my mouth?”

Otabek covered his face with his hands, the look of hesitant virginity on Yuri’s; face almost too much or him to bear. “Yuri…”

“Is that a yes?” Yuri demanded, more confident now.

Otabek tried to be rational. “Giving head is…not everyone likes it. It can be uncomfortable and if you haven’t done it before…”

“So that’s a no?” Yuri said but he gave Otabek’s erection a firm tug as he asked, eyes now sly, confidence growing.

“We’re in a corridor.” Otabek huffed, his resolve, nerve that strong to tart with, flagging under Yuri’s attention.

“Sezim isn’t an idiot, Beka.” Yuri leaned closer, nipping at the stubble skin under Otabek jaw. “I’ve always wanted to try it. May I?”

When Otabek still didn’t respond Yuri kissed him, pushing his lips hard against Otabek’s and biting when he came away. “Please?”

Finally Otabek nodded and Yuri gave him a satisfied squeeze, before starting to sink to his knees. In spite of his curiosity and innate confidence, Otabek could see he was still nervous, eyeing Otabek’s erection with equal parts trepidation and lust.

“Start slow.” Otabek said to him softly. “Don’t force yourself at any point. I don’t care if-“

“Shut up Beka.”

Yuri gave him once last sardonic look before opening his mouth, and letting his pink tongue come out to catch the drop of precum settled on his tip, making Otabek shudder. Still, he watched Yuri for signs of disgust, knowing that he himself didn’t enjoy the taste of cum. But Yuri merely retracted thoughtfully before glancing up again.

“Salty.”

“Just, start slow.”  If he did anything else he might implode.

“Got it.” Yuri said, before that tongue came out once more, this time lapping a much longer stripe underneath his cock, making it jump. Otabek gripped the wall. He wasn’t a stranger to blow jobs, not in the least. But this was…Yuri. Tasting him and telling he tasted ‘salty.’

 _God_.

Yuri was tasting him, eagerly running his tongue on all available skin and his one hand working where it couldn’t reach, and keeping his hard dick throbbing. He gave absolutely no warning when he opened his mouth, balanced the tip on his tongue and took him whole inside. Otabek cried out, hand coming out to prop him up against the opposite wall, so he was curled over Yuri, who had kept his other hand locked on Otabek’s hips, as if he had known that would happen.

“Are you sure you haven’t done this before?” Otabek panted.

With a ridiculous sound, Yuri came off. “Yes.” He snarked, before descending again, bringing forth a grunt from Otabek’s throat.

“It’s too deep, you’ll gag.” He tried to warn, but in response, Yuri only took him deeper, and he did gag. Pulling off to cough, he glared at Otabek.

“I told you.” Otabek said as firmly as he could. “Are you alright?”

“I like how you feel in my mouth.” Yuri said shyly, eyes averted.

“Ahh.” He shuddered. “Saying things like that…”

When Yuri made as if to go down on him again, he stopped him with a hand to his hair. He met Yuri’s confused glare with a shake f his head.

“No. if you do that again I’m going to come down your throat, and I’m not doing that with you now.” he urged Yuri upwards.

Yuri stood, but reluctantly. “Isn’t that the point?”

“Not always.” Otabek admitted. “But maybe when I have more self-control, we can try again.

 “Not everything is about self-control, “Yuri sighed. “So what now, you go jack off in the bathroom and I do what?”

Otabek shook his head, his smile loose. “Something…else.”

Yuri pressed closer, grasping Otabek dick again. “What else?”

Otabek sighed into his hair, smelling conditioner and the lingering scent of aftershave. It was so easily to lay his hands on Yuri’s waist and pull him tighter, nuzzling to find his neck, to bite and savour. If he didn’t think of something soon, while Yuri teased and tugged, it would be over…

“Come.”

“Already?” Yuri teased. Otabek ignored him to pull them back to his chair, a tight grip on Yuri’s wrist. He sat but didn’t allow Yuri to follow yet, instead he guided him between his spread legs, pushing up the cotton of his shirt, and Yuri took the initiative and shucked the thing entirely, tossing it over his shoulder. Otabek’s fingers, traced over the flat panels of his toned chest and stomach, found the garden path leading from his navel into the loosely slung denim pants as he looked up to see Yuri watching him with an eager expression. Keeping their eyes locked, Otabek opened his mouth to lick, to bite at the pale, honey coloured flesh in front of him, sucking another hickey. As he did so, he made quicker work of Yuri’s pants than he had his own, taking his time to slide the black briefs down and over the curve of his ass, scarping his thumbnails along the skin as he went. When Yuri’s own erection bumped the underside of his chin, Otabek didn’t give any warning as he came off Yuri’s skin to swallow him completely. Yuri gave a muffled gasp, covering his mouth with his hand.

“Fuuuuck, Beka.” He whined, but Otabek purposely moved forward, letting Yuri’s length slide slowly over his tongue as far as he could take it without gagging. His fingers were still cupped around Yuri’s cheeks, and he dug his fingers in, enough to leave marks but not enough to be painful. He stopped when the pubic hair of Yuri’s crotch tickled his nose, then pulled back and off, making Yuri sigh. But he hadn’t missed how Yuri’s knees were buckling slightly, and understood the weakness in that moment.

“Beka.” It was equal part annoyed complaint and wanton lust in Yuri’s voice and all of it was beautiful.

“Yura.” He replied, kissing a hipbone that was as much art as anatomy, slipping into a nickname he usually only said within the privacy of his mind. Fingers were in his hair, and desire was before him. He pulled the other man down then, leaning back and forcing Yuri to straddle his hips, closing his eyes against the sensation of Yuri spreading over him, thighs muscular, ass bare and open.

 _Not yet, not yet_. He cautioned himself. But he still groaned when their lengths touched, throbbing together. Yuri’s hips came forward, urging for friction and proximity.

“Now what, genius?” Yuri panted against him, arms curling over his shoulders just how Otabek wanted them to, hair slithering over his skin. Otabek grabbed his neck, dragging his face down for a hard kiss.

“I know,” he said as he broke away, letting go of the man’s neck and letting his hand fall between them, “that you want more. But not here, not on a damn plane.”

His hand aligned their erections with each other, both pointing upward and then wrapped securely, their mingled precum and saliva adding enough lubricant for this.

“Ok.” Yuri said softly, eyes half lidded.

“I want more for us.” Otabek said, kissing the protrusion of collar bone at eye level, his other arm snugly settled over Yuri’s back. “I ….I just want you Yuri. I want the best for you and the best _of_ you.”

“Hmm.” Yuri hummed in his ear as he worked them steadily, building momentum and the piercing pleasure in his groin.

“What do _you_ want?” Otabek asked, nuzzling at his jawline.

“I’m struggling to think right now.” was Yuri’s slightly snarky reply.

“Tell me.”

Instead of words, Yuri bucked upwards into his hand, a definitely involuntary movement.

“Beka, I’m close.”

Otabek increased both pressure and speed. He kissed Yuri’s neck, tasting the sheen of perspiration there, pressing his teeth against the tight muscle. “I want you to come for me, while my dicks grinds against yours. While _my_ hand is the one touching you.”

The words were enough, and Otabek held the man tight as his body tensed in a tight spasmodic shudder. He fancied he could almost feel the orgasm ripple through Yuri’s flesh, making him turn a beautiful shade of pink over his chest and face. Yuri’s cry or pleasure was buried in Otabek’s neck, and finished off with a lasting bite that gave him a sharp pain, and sent him over the edge too.

 He held himself tightly still, all except for his hand, which eked out the last of their coupled climaxes until they were done, no longer tight against one another, but limp and pliant. Otabek felt Yuri’s fingers making idle circle on the back of his neck, clenching and unclenching. His own hand was touching the bumps along Yuri’s spine, as if to memorise them.

Yuri came away, flushed and hopefully satisfied, and the kiss they shared was more breath than pressure.

“Next time,” Yuri said quietly, eyes glinting. “I get what I want.”

“Are you saying that wasn’t good?”

Uri shifted and Otabek worried he was going to get up, too soon, too soon, but he merely settled himself more snugly against him, head resting on his shoulder.

“No. I just wanted…” he laughed. “I don’t know. Whatever.”

“whatever.” Otabek chuckled, his clean hand trailing up his back to tangle in the ends of his hair. “Not a very good recommendation.”

A sigh. “Sorry. I just don’t know what…to do. I mean, I’ve seen stuff…”

“Excuse me?” Otabek said, his voice kicking up slightly.

Yuri withdrew himself, making Otabek miss the warmth. “Otabek, do you think I’m completely clueless? You think I haven’t watched porn?”

Otabek blinked. “Pornography isn’t an accurate portrayal of sex, Yuri. It’s very-“

Yuri rolled his eyes, but his embarrassment was creeping up and he looked away with a scowl. “I know that, fuck. I’m just saying I have seen stuff, and had things I’ve wanted to try for a while. And after last time…well, I was curious.”

Otabek breathed through the spreading warmth in his chest. “Is that way you went down on me?”

Yuri seemed to give up on embarrassment and just face the fact of it. He met Otabek’s eyes with a hellion spark. “Yes. And I still do, since you didn’t let me finish.”

Running his hands lightly Up Yuri’s thighs, Otabek grinned. “There are many things we can try. I must say I’m curious too, as to the kinds of things you enjoy.”

Yuri gathered his hair and baled it into a loose knot at his neck. “Well, if it’s not clear by now, I’m a virgin.” He said this without even a flicker of shame.

“I would have been singularly stupid not to know that.”

“Yeah, well, you have a track record of being stupid.”

Otabek was not deterred. “Even virgins have an idea of what they think they’d like. Did you have any…fantasies?”

Yuri’s green gaze was sparkling and defiant. “Yes. And none of them involved a plane.”

“ _You_ came on to me.” Otabek pointed out.

“ _You_ got hard just from looking at me.”

“Fair point.”

They shared a contented moment between them, and as it lengthened, Otabek felt words rising to his throat that he was afraid of. Luckily Yuri’s gaze dropped to the mess between them, and twisted.

“That’s fucking gross. I hope your bathroom as wet wipes or something.”

 

-8-

 

There had definitely been some kind of promise involving he never, ever return to Russia for any reason at all. Yuri reflected it was probably a stupid assumption to make, on his part. He’d never felt at home with promises, even to himself. They always felt like placeholders, rather than solid immutable things. A promise felt like the opposite of what it implied; it told him that something was breakable enough to need the bandage of words to keep it solid.

As he crept silently over the shingled roof, wearing the same black cat suit he’d used the first job he’d worked for Otabek, he really hoped this would be the last time he’d come to his home land. Cat-quiet, he found the window he’d been looking for, the one leading into the corridor that left into Yaakov’s office.

After an appreciative once over, Otabek had informed him that Yaakov had left his nest in favour of hunting Viktor down in japan. While his definite location was still unknown, it was absolutely certain he was no longer in Russia, and thus no longer in his office, and the final ingredient to Otabek’s plan lay within it.

Yuri took out a simple looking tool from his sleeve that had a simple function but needed a complicated kind of skill. Using it neatly, he found the weak point in the hinge and levered carefully, not wanting even the slightest noise to give him away. Night time and wearing black only helped to an extent, and would be totally pointless if he didn’t actually keep quiet. Otabek had told him and Sezim that there were at least three men still within the clubs office, watching over Yaakov’s things. The thumping downstairs would be enough cover for his footsteps on the roof, but not for anyone who might actually be waiting in the corridor itself. So, he worked carefully, quietly, his honed skills coming into play. After 4 and a half minutes, he slid the entire bottom panel from the sliding window free and laid it on the slanted roof beside him, before climbing inside himself.

The small, non-descript buzzer attached to his hip remained still, which mean that none of the three men they were observing had left the downstairs. Sezim had been set to watch them while Yuri did his work, but he still inched very carefully around the corner of the passageway, making sure it was truly empty.

Even though he was entering the space from an unfamiliar angle, being there again was disconcerting. Nothing was different, not even the dark red carpet underfoot, faded where feet crossed it most, filthy at the edges because it had never been cleaned. The effect was surreal; he had only left there a scant few months prior, but he had honestly never expected to see the inside ever again. It was like being in a disconcerting dream scape.

Inside, the thumping music from below travelled upwards, muffled but Yuri could still feel the vibrations in the floor through his soft soled shoes as he knelt down in front of Yaakov’s locked door. It took him less time to open that than it had to undo the window, but then again, Yaakov had never really seen a need to worry about his security before. It was only recently that he had started feeling the ground tremble under his wide feet.

The office itself looked the same as it always had. Yaakov had a desk, but he used it only to impress on the rare occasion someone outside the organisation came in there. But for the most part, he had a couple of deep red couches, and a low coffee table that had never seen coffee but had seen plenty of spilled beer and greasy poker cards. There was a well-stocked but dusty bookshelf, and a large painting on one wall that Yuri had hated since his childhood. It was a fairly good reproduction of “Christ in Limbo’ by Hieronymus Bosch, a disturbing depiction of hell or the afterlife. When Yaakov had observed his horror as a child, he had laughed, saying he thought it was rather a rather amusing image. That was equally disturbing, to in his mind.

He moved past the memories, the add collection of disturbing relics of a life he’d left behind, viewing them the same way he would view week old leftovers. Unpleasant, and needing to get rid of it as soon as possible. The place he was told to look for was somewhere he had never seen but knew of. The lowest drawer in Yaakov desk, one that locked with a key. Yuri viewed it with disdain. Honestly, it was a cheap lock and the key that opened it was probably made of cheap metal too. What was the actual point? All for show?

As he knelt once more, fishing out his smallest lock picks, he made quick work of the lock, tsking to himself. The finger thick folder he found there looked abut right, along with five small, dog eared, diary, held closed with a string. He’d often seen Yaakov scratching away into these little books, and he was surprised to find so few. He hoped they were enough as he carefully slotted them into a black cotton sack he unfolded from his waist band.

 He heard the door open ever so softly.

“Oh good. I was getting bored.”

Yuri barely had a moment to duck when he sensed something heavy fly over his head.

Where Babicheva liked her knives and ice picks, Georgi Popovich enjoyed heavier arsenal like throwing stars the size of fists, crowbars and baseball bats decorated with spikes. It was so fucking showy, Yuri had never seen the point of it. Apart from making a mess, it dragged things out. This was why he and Babicheva worked as a team, where he would usually be the one breaking bones before she would step in to slowly pick the remains of their victims apart.

He pressed the little back box at his hip, hoping it would signal Sezim quickly, but he knew that Popovich was quick even if he was an exhibitionist.

“I missed you, little fairy.” Georgi exclaimed, sounding genuinely delighted. “Why are you dressed all in black? Were you being sneaky?”

Yuri pulled the balaclava off and glared. “Popovich.”

The man raise an admonitory finger at him. “Now now, I told you to call me Georgi.”

“I’d rather call you fucking pyscho.”

Popovich shrugged. “Just as applicable I suppose. Now, why don’t you try and run away like a good boy, so I can have my fun?”

Yuri stood, but remained in a shifting stance that would allow him to leap away when he needed to. “Actually I would prefer it if you just butt the fuck out and let me go.”

Georgi spread his hands with a wide smile. “I can’t do that. Sorry.”

“You could. You don’t even like Yaakov. Just let me go and stay out of this mess he’s made.”

Georgi appeared to consider his words as he lifted the bat from his belt and swung it thoughtfully. “You’re right about that, Fairy. I don’t like him. I only like my sister.” He pointed the bat at Yuri. “And she wants to play with you. And so do I. honestly, Yuri, why didn’t you tell me that you were gay? We could have had such fun.”

Yuri couldn’t stop the look of disgust that flew to his face. “I didn’t think you cared. And also, I wouldn’t touch you with a pole.”

“I don’t really.” Georgi admitted, stepping closer. They began an odd sort of dance, with several metres between them. “But I do enjoy finding out what makes others tick.”

“From the inside. Go fuck your sister, Popovich. You’ll never touch me.”

Giorgi’s face didn’t change from its disconcerting delight when he came at Yuri then, bat raised and ready. It was the one with razors blades embedded in the tip. Yuri had watched him add them one by one, cutting his fingers and licking the blood off his fingers the entire time. It was a clumsy swing, and Yuri avoided it, though he suspected it had been done on purpose. Georgi hadn’t lied; he liked to play with his food.

Yuri estimated the distance between himself and the door, then his likelihood of getting there unmolested, then the likelihood of him getting further than that without actually needing to knock Georgi out.it was impossible. The only way to get out at all was to incapacitate Georgi first, which would very definitely include blood, probably his own. Georgi may be a nutjob but he was good and there was a real reason why Yaakov had hired him in spite of him having several loose wired in his head.

Yuri yanked himself out of the way again. “Just leave me alone Georgi. Last chance.”

“What makes you think I’m afraid of you?” came the laughed reply and another wide swing.

Yuri briefly wondered where the fuck Sezim was and why was he taking so long, but couldn’t dwell on it. He titled awkwardly to avoid the bat, and saw Georgi put his foot out to trip him up. He hopped over it in time, kicking his leg out as he did, knocking into the back of his knee and making him buckle enough for Yuri to move around and towards the door. But he didn’t retreat quite yet.

Popovich was already coming at him, not elegant but fast like a sledgehammer. He had however, dropped the bat and Yuri saw the shine of brass knuckles on both fists. He stamped the heel of his left boot hard into the floor, and Yuri saw a short, silver blade slide out with the ‘shick’ sound.

“You’re such a showman.”

“You would know.” Yuri retorted, knocking away the first fist. He tried to come in under the arm to punch at his ribs, but it went wide as Georgi turned. The argument of fists went on between them, fast and punctuated with short harsh grunts.

“You know,” Georgi panted, “I’m only here,” a swing a glancing shot, “because my sister is currently in japan,” the tilt back of his head to avoid a kick, “chasing down your silver boy.”

“I don’t care.” Yuri grunted in reply, finally finding a gap in the motion and slamming a fist into the tight muscle of Giorgi’s thigh. It was hard enough to cause pain, but he was aiming for the numbness that followed. He was gratified to see Georgi stumble, the grin on his face slipping into a grimace.”

I want to see you bleed.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Your boyfriend is already bleeding, outside in his car.”

In the brief moment where Yuri’s hands stilled, Georgi made his move and Yuri saw a flash of white explode across his vision. He stumbled backwards, clutching at his head, and lost his balance. He had barely thudded to the floor when Georgi was on top of him, foot planted imply against his throat.

“idiot.” Giorgi’s face was far when he finally blinked it into focus, and his hands gripped his calf tight, preventing his windpipe from being crushed. “I’m going to have fun with-“

A loud bang interrupted his words and Yuri watched him topple backwards, releasing his throat and he sucked in air. His eyes lifted to where someone stood at the open door just behind his head.

Otabek looked for larger than usual at this angle, but his arm was straight and his grip was sure as he held the gun. He lowered it slightly, and iron grey eyes matched a stoic façade.

“Are you alive?”

Yuri heaved himself upwards, clutching his head and hissed at is came away bloody. “Are you trying to be funny?”

Georgi body twitched and Yuri looked closer. Then he shot Otabek a look of annoyance. “You missed his head.”

Otabek offered a hand to help him up and he took it. “My goal was to save you, not kill him.”

“Yeah yeah.” He couldn’t complain because he hadn’t really wanted to kill the guy either. “Let me get the bag. Fuck, my head.”

He gave Georgi a brief kick to the ribs, enjoying the groan it brought forth as he passed. He retrieved the back sack and returned to Otabek, still touching his head gingerly.

“Stop playing with guns.” He said, taking it from Otabek’s lax hands as he passed. But Otabek caught him on the way out, halting him for a moment. Yuri allowed himself to lean in, to fall into Otabek’s weight for a moment only, before rising again. “Let’s go.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I don't know shit about guns, I winged everything here.  
> Also, writing a sex scene without actual sex is hard AF.
> 
>  
> 
> In the final stretch now. the story will be drawing to a close in the next chapter or so.
> 
> The artist referenced is here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hieronymus_Bosch


	19. 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright! Reasons why this took to so long:
> 
> \- I have lovely humans who are willing to beta my writing and help me think through the blocks. these humans be Storylover92 (http://storylover92.tumblr.com/) and Tuples ( http://eclair.tumblr.com/) these are very nice humans and I love them very much for putting up with my shoddy editing.
> 
> \- its....really.....long  
> \- its the last one! (except not really)

  “You going to tell me what happened exactly?”

 Yuri asked sourly as the car sped away, Sezim in the driver’s seat, with far more blood coating his chest and arms than Yuri. But he had assured them that none of it was his, so it was fine.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Otabek replied. “Something went awry inside the club. There were a few men coming towards the car, but Sezim followed them out and dealt with them, as you see.”

Sezim tapped his brows in salute, not turning around but obviously listening intently.

“Then realised you were alone inside and I came to find you.”

Yuri nodded, dumping the contents of the black sack onto the back seat and using the fabric as a wadded up ball over the cut on his head. It had that stinging throb that came with head wounds, along with the sense that a tap had been turned on. They only way was to wait it out.

“That was dumb,” he said simply.

“You should be grateful I’m dumb then.”

Yuri glanced at Otabek, who was tapping away on his tablet, intense concentration written on his face. Yuri found it impressive; Otabek could be typing, on a phone call and knitting socks all at the same time without breaking a sweat.

“Yeah, fine. You won’t find me grateful if you end up shooting your foot.”

“I won’t end up shooting my foot,” Otabek said without inflection, clearly humouring Yuri’s sour mood but not putting up with it. He picked up one of the black books scattered on the seat between them and flipped through it. After a small nod, he snapped it shut.

“Perfect.”

“Thanks, boss,” Yuri muttered, pulling the wadded fabric away to assess how soaked it was. Not too bad. “Add it to my bill.”

“Along with all the medical bills, I assume.”

Yuri merely gave him the finger with his free hand, but was surprised to find it caught. Without looking at him once, Otabek pulled the hand close, and kissed his palm, even with the faint smears of blood on it. He glanced sidelong at Yuri, grey eyes alight, and then dropped it.

Yuri felt a little more light headed, but let it go, having seen the small smirk on Sezim’s face in the mirror. He picked up the gun he’d taken off Otabek and c, before tossing it into the front seat.

“Hate these things.”

 

-8-

 

Arriving at the Katsuki manor this time was not as fraught with anxiety as it had been on the last visit. This time, he sat beside Otabek in the sleek black Jaguar Saloon as it slid through the gates, attached to pillars that were overly ornamental jade serpents that glared at them as they passed. He recalled the crunching sound as the tight rubber of the tyres crushed and rolled over gravel. He observed the Katsuki Manor draw closer, its architecture a combination of traditional and modern, nevertheless old, affluent and large.

“Are you nervous?” Otabek asked him quietly. Yuri didn’t turn to meet his eyes, but didn’t see a point in lying.

“The last time I came here wasn’t through the front door. I’m pretty sure I was damn well dragged. So excuse me for feeling cautious.”

“Katsuki Yuuri honours his deals,” Otabek told him calmly. “He knows you’re with me.”

Yuri did turn to face him then. “What? He knows about…us?”

The car came to a stop with barely a jerk outside the double front doors, and Otabek straightened a cuff, eyes averted. “He knows that you are in my employ and are as much invested in it as anyone would be.”

Yuri bit his tongue. He hadn’t meant to come out so…shocked. But if Otabek was stung, he didn’t show it. He simply left the car and immediately started for the door. Yuri shrugged off his ambivalence and followed suit, eyes darting left and right, taking in everything with more observation than his previous visit.

It was very different. One of the reasons was that he could see everything without one eye swollen shut. But he didn’t have time to linger, he and Otabek were led directly towards the internal organs of the building, and into a room that Yuri recalled as the Katsuki Serpent’s office.  In comparison to the one and only other mob boss he’d worked for, it made Yaakov’s lair look like a pig’s den. The Katsuki office was   elegance, dark colours and few embellishments. Its obvious wealth was in the ceiling high windows draped with dark green damask, corded in gold; the way his feet sank very slightly into the carpet that covered the entirety of the office floor; the gleaming, polished wood of its furniture. 

Yuri remembered the desk, a ridiculous thing, a table on steroids. He also recalled Katsuki Yuuri sitting behind it, as he did now, leaning into the chair that knew his form and somehow making it clear that the desk, the chair, the office and all its casual expense could be subtracted and he would still be Katsuki Yuuri and scary as hell.

The man had dark hair, so sleek it seemed oiled, and the light glanced off it as he spared them a brief glance from his computer screen. His eyes flicked from Otabek to Yuri.

“He isn’t required for this,” the Serpent said simply, speaking to Otabek. Yuri’s feet halted. He didn’t even have to guess, but he waited for Otabek to look at him so he could mouth ‘Sir, yes, sir’ before turning on his heels and walking out of the chilly room.

His mood of disquiet was abruptly smashed apart when arms came out of nowhere, as soon as he closed the door behind him. Without realising it, an arm had wrapped around his neck and another fist was knuckling painfully against his scalp.

“Your reactions are slow,” Viktor chuckled next to his ear, slipping into Russian.

Yuri dropped out of the neck hold easily, since Viktor had already let go. “Asshat,” he replied feebly as he tried in vain to smooth his hair from his face.

“Miss me?” Viktor teased, making Yuri off –balance for a moment, the inertia of being transported back into a scene he had enacted from his childhood making his head spin.

“I need a damn cigarette,” Yuri shot back. “How do I get out of this maze?”

Viktor indicated to follow him, and as Yuri followed him , not back to the front door but up several flights of stairs, he reflected that he used to look up to Viktor, physically. Now, he was of height with him, and broader shouldered too.

Viktor had led them to a topmost level, and Yuri followed him out onto the roof. It wasn’t a bare abandoned thing, like the rooves of taller buildings, a necessary but boring addition to its construction. It had been turned into a small garden, complete with Gazebo and accompanying seats set into the turf. On closer inspection, Yuri saw it had fake, short green plastic fronds giving the impression of lawn. The plants however were real.

Yuri fished out his box and lit up as they walked to the Gazebo’s cover, and watched as Viktor waved congenially to a short, delicate looking woman passing them on her way off. He wasn’t sure if Viktor had sent some private signal, but they were now alone.

The last time they had seen each other had been fraught with all kinds of complications, but Yuri had at least felt it had been on a good, if dissociative note. The Viktor of his childhood was gone, the new one was here before him, and it was still weird. Nonetheless, it was an eerily familiar smile on the man face when he waved impatiently for Yuri sit down.

“I don’t often come here, but it's nice in summer,” he said.

Yuri, completely unused to small talk in any form, didn’t say anything. But he did sit, tucking his feet up on the edge of the chair and leaning back.

“It’s good to see you Yuri,” Viktor said, calling his attention again, smiling beneficently.

Yuri blew out some smoke, cocked his head. “Is it?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

A shrug. “I don’t know, maybe for you. But the last time I left here, I nearly died, so I have mixed feelings about it.”

To his utter shock, Viktor chuckled. “Pichit can get carried away… Are you still sour about it?”

“Are you fucking kidding?” Yuri felt his anger rise. “I literally almost died. That sort of sticks in the brain. Don’t you even care?”

Viktor tossed his head, flicking the elegant sweep of his hair from his eyes. “Ah, Yuri, I knew you were strong enough to handle it.”

“Liar,” Yuri spat, dragging on the smoke again. “But it doesn’t matter. Like you said, let’s move on.”

Even though Yuri had though he had in fact, already moved on, Viktor’s cavalier attitude to his near death was galling. He tsked to himself, why he was going through all this shit to save the asshole anyway.

“Yuri, _I_ wanted to kill you.”

Yuri’s blonde head didn’t turn, but his eyes watched sidelong. “What?”

“I thought you were the instrument of my downfall, the reason I was cast out and despised. I thought _you_ despised me. Of course I wanted to kill you.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“I told Katsuki he wouldn’t be able to trust me if he left me alone with you, so he didn’t.”

That spoke volumes to Yuri about the relationship Viktor had with his current boss, but it was in a language he didn’t understand. It seemed to exclude a lot of details. But his focus returned to Viktor’s actual words.

“Ok. Well, thanks for not killing me and leaving crazy boy to play with me instead.”

Viktor tossed his head again, this time an annoyed gesture. “Ah, Kitten. Please, let it go. There was so much done in ignorance already. I am glad to see you, alive and well and my friend again.”

The rawness of his tone hit Yuri square in the chest, flaring up old affections and dedications. And truthfully, Yuri wasn’t trying to rehash old wounds. He really did want to move on.

“Sorry,” he sighed out harshly. “I just need some coffee and a cig and I’ll be all smiles again.”

“Whenever are you all smiles?” Viktor said, teasing.

Yuri pretended to consider it, scratching at his head with the pinkie of his cigarette hand. “I was in a Lamborghini showcase room last week. I was definitely all smiles then.”

“Since when are you into cars?”

“Since I saw the Lamborghinis.”

Viktor laughed. “So, now you like Lamborghinis and… interesting clothes.”

“Seems like everyone has something to say about my clothes.” Yuri shrugged, stubbing the cigarette out on the sole of his shoe and tucking it away into his jeans pocket. Today he wore a black tee, with a stylised fluorescent tiger printed in the centre.

“Still like cats though.”

“Some things don’t change.”

 “Other things do.”

Yuri gave Viktor a significant look. “No shit.”

This time the laughter was small, but shared between them. Small bridges, new.

“When did you cut your hair?” Yuri asked as the silence settled again, still vaguely tense, and settled on the first time that came to mind.

Viktor’s hand raised to it, almost without him thinking to, tucking it away behind his ear. It was a useless gesture, because it simply slid right back out again. “Fairly soon after I came here.”

“You always had this ‘thing’ about your hair. I remember at least ten different bottles of shampoo.”

Viktor snickered. “It was shampoo, conditioner and other things too. But yes, I used to love it. By the time I arrived here, its importance had…dwindled some.”

Yuri could hear the words that Viktor didn’t say; how experience and years changed things, changed them. How much the revolutions of life had altered them and now there were other things to be considered important.

“All part of growing up.” Yuri semi-sang, bringing a small smile from Viktor’s mouth.

“And you? Your hair is very long now.”

“You made it look like so much fun,” Yuri replied sarcastically.

“Obviously I didn’t leave that much of an impression because it’s in a state.”

Yuri suddenly recalled, unbidden, Otabek running his hands through the longs strands, talking about childhood and tattoos. “My hair,” he cleared his throat, “is perfect.  Thank you very much.”

“I have a conditioner that would be great for those split ends.”

“Oh god, please don’t.” Yuri glared. “Do not give me hair tips, just ‘cos you’re still bitter you lost yours.”

“Why not?”

“Because then we are every gay cliché ever written,” Yuri spat. He fished his box out again, and lit up. “Here we are talking about fashion and hair, like two gay idiots.”

“Two gay idiot mobsters.”

“Two gay idiot mobsters who juggle knives for bets.”

Yuri’s giggle was far drowned out by Viktor’s loud guffaw. Yuri couldn’t help but smile genuinely, letting his face crease and it be seen. There was something about Viktor that could never be quashed, and his larger than life laughter was one of them. He eventually tapered off and pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes and sighed happily.

“Ah, Kitten, it is _so_ good to see you.”

There was something, a small almost invisible niggling that snagged on Yuri’s good humour and began to tear it. But Viktor looked at him, teeth white and bare, a picture of fecklessness.

“You too, Viktor.” He replied a little quietly, his smile now lopsided. But Viktor leaned back in his seat and looked up at the sky.

“I didn’t miss you before, but I am glad we are together again. You should know that.”

The snag ripped some more, and this time Yuri heard the echoey sound in Viktor’s words, hollowed out slightly.

“Ok,” he replied. “I’m guessing this Yaakov business is getting to you.”

Viktor’s smile dwindled and left his face, his mouth now a slack thing on his face.

“Somewhat.”

“Need a smoke?” Yuri offered.

Viktor shook his head. “Katsuki would kill me. No, thank you. But you are right, the business with Yaakov must be done with.”

The business with Yaakov; compressing the violence of their lives into a simple, vacuous phrase that described nothing of the truth.

“Yeah,” Yuri said carefully, watching Viktor’s deadpan face as he spoke.

“I do not even hate him. I simply want him gone from the world. As if he could be erased. But life is not so simple.”

Yuri looked away, frowning. “Forget coffee. If we’re going to talk Yaakov, we need a fucking drink.”

Now Viktor’s eyes lit up again. “Yes! Excellent idea. Yuuko has some amazing stuff she brews herself. Come I will introduce you. She has triplets you know.”

Viktor was already standing up, his energy radiating off him in contagious waves, the same man but different from before.

“I don’t do kids,” Yuri warned him as he stood to follow.

“You will _love_ them.”

 

-8-

 

Yuri managed to escape the kitchen just as Yuuko was drunkenly inviting him and Viktor come and meet the family, and Viktor was drunkenly accepting.

“Any friend of Viktor’s is a friend of mine!” she said too loudly, draping her arm around Yuri’s shoulder, with a complete absence of personal space boundaries.

“Still on the clock,” Yuri had said, but he’d been watching carefully. Not even Viktor’s drunken façade could hide the dimming of inner light that Yuri had seen just then. It was there, then gone, but in spite of the fact that he and Viktor had been separated for years, there were somethings that didn’t change, and one of them was the fact that Yuri knew Viktor’s little tells. He was better at hiding than Yuri was, but they had shared a flat for years, and Yuri could tell something was off.

If Viktor noticed that Yuri was watching him a little too keenly, he ignored it and kept on drinking, becoming more and more jovial with Yuuko. While they got louder, Yuri got quieter, and they didn’t seem to notice he had stopped with one glass.

He padded through the hallways that seemed all the same, thinking he should run into someone eventually who could direct him to the office. He would rather wait outside the door in the hopes of catching Altin than get drunk just then.

He was spared the search when his feet led him into the entryway, and Otabek stood there, tapping away at his phone. When he looked up, and saw Yuri, he killed the screen and stashed it away.

“Good timing.” He said.

“I was about to say the same.” Yuri replied. “We need to talk.”

Otabek’s eyebrows raised very slightly but they fell into step with each other on the way out the door. Yuri saw Sezim waiting with the car, and spared them a cheerful wave which Yuri ignored. At the bottom of the steps they turned to each other, and Yuri’s hand were already tapping out a cigarette, his edginess building.

“Something's off.” He told Otabek quietly.

“I agree.”

Yuri jerked his eyes upwards, and saw that Otabek, as usual, was completely serious. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been going over information with the Katsuki’s’ resident tech and there are things that don’t quite fit. What you do _you_ mean?”

“It’s hard to explain.” Yuri said. “I met Viktor just now. He seems….I don’t know. Something's wrong.”

Otabek tilted his head very slightly, quizzical. “Well, his ex-employer is out for his blood.”

Yuri shook his head. “No. it’s something else.  It’s to do with that but…not that. What info isn’t adding up?”

Otabek frowned but pulled his phone out. After some tapping and swiping he showed Yuri the screen; a bird’s eye view of what seemed to be a wharf.

“Katsuki says he has been searching for Yaakov everywhere. When I told him that this was the most logical place for him to be holed up, he said his man Pichit had already crossed it off the list.” Otabek’s sanguine face held miniscule indications that he was annoyed by this. “But it doesn’t make sense to me.”

Yuri blew smoke away from the space between them. “You going to double check it?”

“And some other things I must arrange.” He nodded, stashing the phone away once more.

“You need me to come?”

“Not if you’d rather stay.”

Yuri debated internally for a second then nodded. “I’ll stay, see if I can figure some things out. Maybe I can find Crazy Boy and return some marks.”

“That would be inadvisable,” Otabek replied. Then he paused, as if to say something, but only stuttered out. “I’ll…be back.”

“Be safe,” Yuri replied quietly. Watching Otabek walk away from him, seeing the straight line of his back, the crease in the jacket where his hands hitched up to seat in his pockets, and suddenly Yuri wanted to haul him back for just a moment, to kiss him goodbye.

When had he started wanting something as silly as that?

He kept the urge close, cradled in his chest, he watched the Jaguar pull away.

 

-8-

 

Yuri leaned forward in his chair, feeling his internal disquiet reaching a crescendo. “Crazy boy is hiding something.”

He had given Katsuki all the information he could, form his limited point of view inside Yaakov’s world. He’d spoke to both the Serpent and Viktor, exchanged barbs with Pichit and even fewer words with Otabek, who was either distracted or intensely focused. But the bubbling unease he’d latched onto when he’d arrived the day prior wouldn’t leave. It was like a stain, and got worse the more he rubbed at it. And now, he sat in a meeting where Viktor was supposed to be present, and he wasn’t.

Yuri knew that Katsuki valued him, it was obvious in the way he refused to go deeply into any discussion without him. But now, he had ordered his pet to go and find the silver haired man, and the pet had said ‘no.’

The pet looked shifty, like his clothes were itching, burning against his skin.

Yuuri watched as Pichit flashed him a deathly glare then went back to staring at the floor. And he still wouldn’t answer his master. A cold kin of knowledge was rising up in his mind like vomit.

“Pichit, while you of all people have had the indulgence of my patience before, today I have none to spare. Speak. Now.” the Serpent’s words rolled out, calculated and sharper than the edge of a sword.

Crazy boy dropped to his knees, head bowed.

“I’m sorry, boss. I had to.”

Yuuri went cold. “Had to ‘what’, crazy boy?”

Crazy Boy unravelled like the tangled thing he was; tears seeping from his eyes and nose as he begged and explained his betrayal. Viktor was the bad guy, Viktor was the taint in their lives, and he had done it for Yuuri, only for him…

Yuri looked to Otabek, fury and terror in his face at once. Otabek looked back, his face stonier than usual.

“I was right.”

“You were right.”

And then they were in the cars leading them, faster ever faster towards the place Crazy Boy had hidden from them. He longed to smack the idiot across the face, but it seemed like Yuuko was already there. He focused on where they were headed, and what they would do when they got there.

Viktor had known. What a damn- great martyr the moron was. He should have known better; self-sacrifice was a pointless endeavour for shadow people.

 

-8- 

 

Yuri had forgotten how fun it was to work with Viktor. However, When the adrenaline throbbed in his head, blood poured into his hands making them hot, and he had to keep his eyes in six places at once, he nonetheless found it annoyingly…troublesome. Yes, Viktor was troublesome.

They had tracked him down, Yaakov, in the midst of tenderising Viktor’s face with his fists. Viktor sat, bound, and magnificently tragic as he saw them, begging them to leave once more, as if they had come all that way just to turn around. Yuri would have rolled his eyes, but they were currently busy watching both Babicheva (who was literally licking her lips at the sight of him, giving him unpleasant shivers) and Georgi, who was glaring at him (on his cartoonishly proportioned face, it was hard to take seriously) Yuri had met them both eye to eye and mouthed ‘fuck off.’

That was before shit had started hitting the proverbial fan. Now, bullets flew, and the old factory sprouted more people, and shelter had to be found. He found himself squeezed behind a pillar alongside Viktor, who insisted on somehow preserving the Crazy Boy’s life, which was now leaking out all over the concrete with blood coloured vitality.

As he helped haul the small man’s body closer, and felt a bullet whistle past his ear, he was grateful he’d tied his hair for once. Then he hoped that Otabek was somewhere safe, far away from any of said bullets. Sezim had better do his fucking job.

Yuri watched, puzzled as Viktor tried and failed to ignite the will to live in Crazy Boy’s eyes, and then more so when Viktor was clearly affected when it became clear he had let the last of his life seep away. He filed it away to ask about later, intent of getting them both out and away, but his plans were once again stepped on when Viktor decided his next move was to go after Yaakov.

“He wouldn’t have gotten far. I saw him leave. You coming along?”

He restrained a very disapproving sigh, because if he had learned anything, he knew there was some sort of fanatical kind of loyalty for Katsuki. There was no point in arguing it, so he followed Viktor out the door, and directed him towards the boat where Yaakov had been hiding in plain sight, kept so only by Crazy boy’s deception.

 “Where is your boyfriend?” Viktor huffed, covering the fact that he was obviously struggling to keep up with Yuri.

Yuri managed to spare him a glare but didn’t argue the point. “Otabek stayed in the car.”

 “Call him and tell him what’s happening. Maybe he can be useful.”

 “I will, but I’m following you in there.”

With more than a little anxiety, Yuri watched and Viktor’s silver head vanished from sight at the top of the ramp. He followed at a slower pace, but he had his phone to his ear, and Otabek picked up after the first ring.

“Are you alive?” they both said at the same time.

There was a silence on both ends, before Yuri rubbed hard at his face. This was _not_ the time for smiling, dammit.

“I’m fine. Following the not-so-prodigal son into the ship.”

“Off to meet the not-so-prodigal father?”

“And rescue the not-so-scary snake,” Yuri replied inching his way up the ramp. “You ok though?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“A lot of bullets flying around.”

“Not where I am,” Otabek replied quietly. “Any of them find you?”

“I’m too skinny. I turn sideways and they miss.”

There was a small sound on the other end of the line that might have been a laugh. “Be safe.”

“There’s a pointless request.” Yuri sneered. “I’m just letting you know I’m fine and  

“Noted.”

Yuri hung up then, as he had gotten to the door, feeling relieved that wherever Otabek was, it was safe and he wasn’t being an idiot. He slipped into the dark interior of the ship's hold, feeling his way through, going by assumption alone as to the direction Viktor had taken. He paused at a locker, its door bent inwards slightly and hinges rusty, but found something’s to make any enterprising violent criminal happy indeed.

As he suspected, Viktor had gone straight to the sound of voices, and was hiding just out of sight. Not that anyone on the vast, empty deck was paying attention. The cocky fucks really hadn’t considered they might be followed, and even if they were confident enough, the way The Serpent was back talking was enough confidence to feed an army, even though he was the one on the floor.

He nudged Viktor, who quickly went from cautious to calculating as he held up both the crowbar and the bolt cutters. Viktor chose the lighter of the two, and Yuri fancied they shared the same private grievance that neither of them had knives in that moment.

But then Yuri caught sight of Georgi’s cartoon face, bored and annoyed like a child who was refused an ice cream, and Yaakov’s face twisted in some kind of intense glee. Suddenly, he rather appreciated the weight of the bolt cutters in his hands. Sometimes, violence needed to be heavy.

The next moments were a cluster of complicated and quick movements. He followed Viktor’s lead, eager to pick up where the other man left off. Georgi was quicker on the uptake and was already retreating, but Yaakov was still slack jawed with surprise when Yuri’s arm swung around in a graceless arc and the bolt cutters hit him just under his right ear, leaving him sprawled on the ground.

It had felt very satisfying.

Unfortunately, by the time he had joined Viktor and Yuuri, Georgi had already jumped ship, and he watched he man swim his way to the closest ladder. When Viktor asked him to deal with that mess, he took in the mess of Viktor’s face, the anger rolling of the Serpent and the sprawled body of his former owner and shrugged.

He’d done enough. He was content to leave the rest, clean up the extras.

He felt practically jaunty as he walked down the ramp, the bolt cutters leaning on his shoulder like an obscene fishing rod. It still had some blood from Yakov’s ear on it.

He didn’t even have to rush to get to where Georgi had chosen to come up. Georgi saw Yuri as he walked down to the bottom of the docking plank, eyed him like a very spiky, baleful fish as he aid his hands on the bottom rungs, staring upwards.

“I didn’t know you could swim,” Yuri mentioned casually.

“Are you going to let me come up?” he sneered eventually.

“Of course,” Yuri replied. “Come on up.”

It was entirely too innocent and Yuri knew it, enjoyed seeing the resentment, confusion and pure, unmitigated rage changing Georgi’s expression.

“I’m not going to shoot you,” Yuri assured, bouncing the cutters off his shoulder and then using them like a walking stick to lean on. “I’ve been told you’re needed alive.”

Georgi did relent, climbing up the ladder cautiously, glaring at Yuri the entire way. Yuri was eerily delighted. Georgi couldn’t reach for a weapon without slowing his ascent, was tired from the morning’s activities and his swim against cold, tidal waters, and was wetter than a very wet rat. Yuri waited patiently, even stepping back slightly as Georgi climbed, and eventually laid a hand on the deck.

“Two hands please,” Yuri cautioned.

Georgi looked up, his mouth an ugly downturned line. “Or what, Fairy?”

“Or this.”

Yuri got the hang of the swing better this time, having gauged the weight. And it was a downward angle too. This blow wasn’t quite as brutal, as he didn’t actually hate Georgi, so it only snapped his head sideways and loosed his grip on the boards. He managed to catch at George’s collar before he fell back into the waves, and hauled the groaning man all the way onto the deck.

“He didn’t say, how alive you should be,” Yuri muttered.

“Bolt cutters?” a voice behind him inquired. Yuri looked over his shoulder and sighed in relief.

“You have amazing timing. Help me drag this wet bag of trash back.”

Sezim grunted but came forth anyway. “Why hit him if you weren’t going to carry him.”

Yuri shrugged. “I only think ahead when I’m being paid to.”

 

-8-

 

It wasn’t until Yuri had gratefully handed Georgi’s semi-unconscious form over to some other of the Katsuki clan, and seen Sezim return to an empty Jaguar that he recalled Otabek. He knew he didn’t actually have to inform the man of everything that happened, but he felt too full of warm happy air to bother with usual protocol. He made his slow way towards the car, phone at his ear, waiting for the pickup.

It didn’t come.

His steps slowed as ring four bled into ring five, and the empty Jaguar looked wrong, somehow. He watched as Sezim straightened up from where he had been bent down inside the driver’s side, an unusual sombre look on his face. Stupidly, Yuri still held the phone to his ear until a mechanised female voice told him that the number he had dialled was not available. Stubbornly, he hung and redialled. This time, a mechanised male voice told him that the number he had dialled did not exist.

Still not caught up with events, he frowned at Sezim. “What’s going on?”

Sezim held out a brown envelope which Yuri took with automatic hands. “He asked me to give you this. And the car, if you want it.”

“Is he ok?” Yuri went on, clinging to the first reason he could think of. Otabek must be hiding, holing himself up somewhere…Had someone taken his phone?”

“Last I saw him, yeah.” Sezim replied apologetically, rubbing way any of those reasons.

“What’s going on?” Yuri repeated softly, staring at the envelope in his hands. It was mostly flat, with something heavy and bulked distorting the paper in one corner.

“I think you need to open the envelope.”

“Did he just…fuck off?”

Yuri’s hands were sliding under the flap which hadn’t been stuck down, and drew the contents out. He recognised the plane ticket right away, having handled so many of them in the last few months, but there was one small detail that he hadn’t seen on any other others; the boarding date was open, unprinted. Everything else, from destination to airline was there, in black and white.

His fingers dug around inside the corner, but he snatched his hand back quickly. He watched on the tip of his fingers, a bead of blood form, grow and slide down, before tilting the envelope so he could see what had bit him.

The gold and amber cat brooch winked up at him, its threading needle loose and accusatory.

Yuri anger caught up with him in one giant rolling wave.

“What the fuck,” he growled.

Sezim raised his hands in a small gesture of surrender. “I know. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

Yuri draw the brooch out, letting it catch the light. There was nothing else inside the envelope apart from those things.

“The coward,” Yuri hissed. “After everything…Did you know about this? Did you _know_ , Sezim?”

Sezim gave a helpless shrug. “Since when does Boss tell me anything that I don’t need to know? I’m not his friend. He just said to give you the envelope and the car.”

“You can keep the damn car.” He articulated before spinning around, still clutching the ticket and brooch.

“Before you go.” Sezim called, voice still uncharacteristically sombre but calm nonetheless. “I just want to say one thing.”

Sezim had technically been a fairly good acquaintance, if not friend to Yuri. He had never actively tried to kill him, and that was something. So he turned around, feeling his throat tremble as he breathed in, and the space behind his eyes uncomfortably hot, all containing some herculean emotion he couldn’t name.

“I’ve never seen any of Boss’s lovers more than once.” He contended with Yuri’s temper. “In fact when it comes to you…. He has done a lot of things he never did before.”

“But he always fucked off and left them, didn’t he?” Yuri swore.

“He never left them a map.”

Yuri hand clenched around said ticket, uncaring that he creased and folded the thick card.

“Your boss is a fucking head case,” he pointed out savagely before continuing away, anywhere other than right there.

“Did you mean it about the car?” Sezim’s voice carried after him. He replied with a middle finger thrown over his shoulder.

 

-8-

 

There was slight bump as the wheels retracted into the undercarriage of the small plane, though Otabek barely felt it. He was staring out the window and down. As the aircraft tilted, he got a perfect view of Hasetsu spread out under him, and knew that down below Yuri was probably very angry with him.

It had to be this way. It’s the only he would know, the only way they would _both_ know.

He knew it was the right decision because his arms weren’t itching. They would start later, the longer Yuri took to decide. He would wish he hadn’t disposed of his phone number, wish he hadn’t left, and wish he could somehow stalk his blonde love from some digital vantage point. All those things would certainly happen.

But now, there was a heavy peace in him that asserted his decision. It was meagre solace, but it would have to do.

 

-8-

 

Four days later, Yuri was looking for somewhere he could be alone. Fuck this place was crawling with Katsuki like some dangerous, black haired oompaloompas.

He was seamlessly amalgamated into the aftermath of the Yaakov takedown, Viktor more than happy to throw an arm over his shoulder and have Yuri close to his side. His hollowness was gone, exchanged for cuts and bruises and one broken toe. Since then, he had preferred to exist in an observant mode hanging at the edges of things unless forcefully drawn in by Viktor. But even he seemed to understand that Yuri was more in the mood to punch a wall than engage in semi familiar camaraderie just then.

He was given a roll out mattress in what seemed to be Viktor’s room, though he was hardly there so Yuri could only really tell by the carelessly thrown clothes about the room, sometimes in the general vicinity of the laundry basket. He wasn’t sure where Viktor slept but it was there. It was fine though, he preferred to be alone just then. In fact, he was much more accustomed to being alone.

He watched as Viktor and Yuuri continued their odd dance. It had reached a point where Yuri didn’t know if he found it odd because he couldn’t conceive of a boss/employee relationship that was based on mutual respect, or if it was something else. There was a lot of about their relationship he didn’t get at all. He was too distracted to dig deeper into it.

So on day four, his general anger over Otabek’s act of running away had simmered down, giving him space to think. However, his general irritation levels were at an all-time high; he had to scramble for privacy of any kind, some of the more boisterous of the Katsuki seemed to consider him some kind of special addition to the team, which he was not. On top of that, he had noticed the Serpent giving him some too sharp glances. Since he had no intention of joining the Katsuki cult with their loyalty that bordered on fanaticism, and doubted an invitation was coming his way anyway, he knew it would be time to move on soon.

The ticket, all the way in his tote in Viktor’s room on the ground floor, burned in his mind.

He’d come onto the rooftop garden at the breaking of dawn, though it hadn’t been intentional. He simply hadn’t slept and eventually thought to himself that it was as good a time as any to grab some ‘alone time’. It was an anaemic sunrise, announcing its impending arrival by lighting the clear sky in infinitesimal increments. There were no clouds for it to snag on and alter, to paint with oranges and pinks, to break the sky into compartments. When the sun rose, its light was harsh to his sleep deprived eyes, and he turned from it, making his face in shadow and blowing smoke from his cigarette back towards to opposite horizon.

He conceded dimly, that Hasetsu was pretty. Even now, in limited light, the pinks and whites of cherry blossoms trees, Wisteria and Maple made the landscape a setting of pastels.

The door to the rooftop opened and Yuri cursed. He couldn’t even smoke one cigarette in peace. However, his ire turned to caution when he saw the arrival.

None other than the Serpent himself. Looking as if he hadn’t slept either, he was in the remains of one of his crisp suits, collar undone, and jacket missing, only the trousers and waistcoat remained. As much as Yuri had a very healthy kind of fear/respect for the man, he couldn’t help but admire his dress sense. He always wore suits; the good kind, the kind that made him look the part and were obviously quality. Each one had unique minor embellishments to set it apart; a silver embroidered waistcoat, a black silk kerchief sticking out from a pocket, cuffs that looked sharper than a pair of scissors.

They observed each other, the pause between them hung like a tangible thing. Yuri could sense the intent in the air, and knew it wasn’t by accident The Serpent had found him there. He never even came up there, as far as Yuri could tell. It was for staff recreation after all. Did the man even know what ‘recreation’ meant?

“Yuri Plisetsky.” He was addressed for the first time since he’d been kneeling on the man’s office carpet.

“Katsuki Yuri.” Yuri responded in kind, thinking that calling him ‘Serpent’ to his face would be a bad move in general.

The man closed the door behind him with a deliberateness that made the action more significant.

“Pay attention to what I am about to tell you, it will not be repeated.”

Yuri faced him with clear eyes, his cigarette almost forgotten. “Alright.”

Dark eyes found his, no less sharp for lack of sleep, holding him still. “Do you know what a life debt is?”

Yuri blinked. “Well…it seemed self-explanatory.”

The Serpent let his eyes slide closed, and Yuri felt goosebumps on his shoulders.

“There are those who are willing to put up with your general cavalier disposition. I am not one of them.”

The warning was heard but Yuri still didn’t buckle under it. “Not sure what you mean.”

“It means you should recall where you are, on whose land you stand, and under whose roof you eat and answer the question.”

This time, Yuri couldn’t suppress a cold shiver. He wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve it, but Katsuki Yuri _did not like him_. He swallowed. And took another drag.

“It means that someone owes you a life, possibly their own.”

“Through a series of events usually out of one’s control.” Katsuki went on as if he hadn’t low-key threatened Yuri a second earlier. “I am in the habit of collecting such debts, it seems. Especially from Russians.” 

Yuri frowned, stubbing the cigarette out on his sole and tucking the butt in his pocket. Apparently no one else smoked around here because there were no ash bins _anywhere_. The movement was followed and noted by black eyes.

“Am I allowed to ask questions?” he bit out testily.

“No,” Katsuki replied flatly. “Only answer them. Why do you think I let you go, alive?”

 _Because you like my pretty face_? Yuri considered saying but let it go. That fact was, he was more likely to lose limbs with Katsuki than he ever had been with Babicheva or Georgi, which was frankly astonishing. And obviously it hadn’t been for Viktor’s sake. So he shrugged.

“I never thought about it.”

Katsuki favoured him with a cold stare for a moment before turning his face away with a sigh. “You are stupid.”

There were several responses vying to get through then but Katsuki overrode them.

“Altin offered me a life debt, in favour for letting you live. That was the only reason why you left my manor alive, Yuri Plisetsky,” he explained. “And while I consider no one my friend, I do think of Altin as one of the few trustworthy criminals of my acquaintance. I have never known him to let his personal life bleed into business. Until you, I did not believe he even had one.”

Yuri’s responses had fallen away then, while Katsuki seemed to indulge in some introspection. “Men like us, have no personal lives. But then, sometimes there are those who simply violently force one on you, whether you wish it or not.”

The Serpent had turned away, and was walking back to the closed doorway.

“I tell you this, Plisetsky, because it is clear that both you and he are behaving like children.” He threw over his shoulder casually. “Men like Altin and I, we don’t seek out companionship, we live at the very top of a food chain, and there is no room for sharing. So if he has nonetheless chosen you to share it with, you should realise the weight such an act bears. It is not a thing done lightly.”

He turned the handle and turned back to Yuri slightly. “Why are Russian men such idiots?”

“Otabek isn’t Russian.”

The Serpent made a small noise indicating his impatience with that answer. “I was obviously _not_ referring to you.”

 

-8-

 

He hadn’t been to the Seychelles before, but he’d read up on it and was prepared. When Yuri stepped off the plane he wore cut-offs with gold handprints on the back pockets and his favourite tee that read ‘ _Not your bitch._ ’

The instructions on the little leaflet the flight attendant had given him were fairly simple, but he still took his time, wandering through customs, buying himself his first pair of sunglasses ever, before finally leaving the small airport and finding a taxi to take him where he needed to go.

Since he was surrounded by sea, it took him a little time to find the exact dock the note mentioned, mostly because he couldn’t pronounce the name properly. But when he did arrive there, he found the man wiring the straw hat and his fishing rod hanging listlessly in the water. It seemed to Yuri that catching any actual fish was incidental, the man looked so relaxed to simply be seated there. When Yuri showed him the cat brooch, his smiled a toothless smile, his brown, leathery skin folding into a hundred creases. Then he pointed to a very nice looking speedboat that bobbed in the water beside him.

Yuri threw his bag first, then himself, into the boat. He untied the anchoring rope, saluted his toothless host and pushed the lever down, making the engine thrum and the water behind the boat boil. He rolled his eyes at the dashboard; this particular was the expensive kind, with GPS already preprogrammed into the digital screen. All Yuri had to do was direct the boat along the red line that led into the blue horizon.

It wasn’t totally blank though, Yuri found himself directed in a wide arc. He passed other smaller islands on the way, nestled in the jewel blue water, and some inhabited, some less so. His own trail led him on for a good forty minutes before the screen told him by way of a small red dot, that his destination was close.

This island was set a little further away from the rest. A small one, but large enough for a good sized forest that framed a modest cabin, set just a way inland from the beach. Yuri assumed he would be docking there.

As the boat drew closer, he saw a figure come out of the house, wearing short sleeves and rolled up trousers without shoes. For no other reason that he damn well felt like it, he gunned the engine, headed straight for the figure and didn’t stop until the boat was thoroughly beached.

Yuri glared. Otabek stared back looking way too happy. So Yuri climbed up the prow of the boat, and perched at its nose like an angry figurehead.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, The Saint? Get over yourself,” Yuri accused.

Otabek, far from being cowed, smiled up at his golden haired lover. “You had to choose for yourself.”

All the rage Yuri had held in reserve came through, and his tongue fell into Russian.

“ _Skol'ko raz ya dolzhen vybirat' tebya_?” he shouted.

“ _Tol'ko v posledniy raz_ ,” Otabek replied, bowing his head.

“And then will you stop with your bullshit?” Yuri demanded. “Now that I’ve followed you around the fucking world, followed your stupid map, and beach this boat. Is this enough?”

Head still bowed, Otabek whispered, “Yes, it’s enough.” 

Yuri hopped down from the nose and stomped up to Otabek then, as much as he could in wet beach sand. He grabbed at Otabek’s chin and forced him to look into his eyes.

“I’m serious. If you’re going to have an emotional girly wobble every other month, I will push that boat back into the ocean and leave now. I love you but I’m not a masochist.”

The broadness of Otabek’s grin was so odd to see, Yuri was sure it must hurting his face.

“You love me?”

“Don’t go on about it,” Yuri retorted. “Just answer my question.”

“Yes,” Otabek said, leaning closer. “No more emotional girly wobbles.”

“And no more making decisions that affect us both without letting me in on it.”

“Ah...” Otabek paused guiltily. “I’m guessing you found out about the life debt.”

Yuri punched Otabek’s arm, not too hard but hard enough to make the softie flinch. “I wasn’t even fucking surprised. Enough with that shit ok? Your business is yours, but if it involves me stop playing God.”

Otabek’s smile was more penitent now. “Yes, alright.”

“Good.”

 Yuri pushed the kiss onto Otabek with all the force he could muster, letting himself be corralled, and hugged close. Otabek didn’t let him go for a long time.

But Yuri did eventually pull away with a determined shove. Then he skirted around Otabek, heading towards the small house. Otabek turned with him like he was following a true north, and Yuri delighted in the feeling of Otabek’s eyes raking over his form.

As he walked, he started to strip.

“What are you doing?”

  
Otabek called after him in a voice laced with mirth.

“I hate flying. I always feel like I need a shower afterwards.” Yuri stopped for a moment and unbuttoned his shorts. “You have a shower right?”

“….Yes.”

Yuri shucked his shorts and briefs in one, deliberately, and almost laughed aloud at the way Otabek’s eyes turned immediately hungry.

“It’s an invitation, Beka. You coming?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: Firstly, thank you to everyone who has been reading this and supporting me with your comments and msgs on tumblr :) You guys have kept me going. It's invaluable to writers like me, knowing our works is enjoyed.
> 
> translations:
> 
> “Skol'ko raz ya dolzhen vybirat' tebya?” (How many times do I have to choose you?)  
> “Tol'ko v posledniy raz,” (Just this one last time.) (Beka, you is gone for dis boi)
> 
> Was that good? Did you guys like? Please leave comments :)  
> I will be writing an epilog where Beka and Yuri will finally....hold hands. he he he he he.
> 
> Also, i will be taking one shots now, based on this fic. So if there are any post scenes you would like to see or whatever, holla at me. Her in comments or on my tumblr is fine. https://micaelavdb.tumblr.com/


	20. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can thank Storyweaver that this got pumped out today :)

The benefit of a tropical climate was that being naked meant he didn’t have to worry about cold.

 

In fact, as Yuri stepped into the cabin, finding it simple and Spartan, the lack of clothes was actually a relief.

 

He didn’t, however, want to linger looking around. If Beka really was following him up on his invitation, he really wanted a shower. He wasn’t going to have sex feeling like day old pizza.

 

Detouring away from what seemed to be the lounge/kitchen, he found what he was looking for. True to every island cliché, it was a nice room, but built out of wood and stone, the shower had only a single sheet of transparent glass to keep water errant water from splashing out. Yuri turned the single tap on, and felt lukewarm water fall out of the shower head like rain.

 

He’d spread the water eventually through his hair when he felt fingers slide over his waist from behind. The fact that Beka pressed the entire length of his body against Yuri’s back told him, one; that Beka was very naked and Two; that Beka was very hard.

 

A silver fish of a thrill shivered through Yuri at the contact. “You took your time.”

 

“I have been waiting for this since I met you. I thought thirty more seconds wouldn’t hurt.” Beka replied and Yuri could feel the vibration of his words in the skin of his back.

 

“Hmm.” Yuri hummed, feeling Beka’s hands interrupt the flow of water over his hips, stomach and thighs. “So now that you have me...?”

 

Beka relinquished words and kisses Yuri the part where Yuri’s neck met his shoulder. “I've been very patient.”

 

“I think I've been more so, all things considered.” Yuri said with a little bitterness.

 

“You have.” Beka agreed and pushed Yuri’s hips to turn him so they faced each other. “Let me make it up to you.”

 

“Hmmm, promises promises.” Yuri teased, linking their mouths and making it very clear that he was done waiting. He pressed his body tight against Beka’s like he had seen the whores do with Dimitri and Gregor and Vladimir so many times, though he didn't see himself that way. But he finally understood the need, the pure physical pleasure of having as little distance between him and his love. It was galvanising for them both. The shower went from tepid to hot in seconds, the slickness of their skins perfect for allowing them to slide more tightly around each other. Yuri’s arms came around his neck, and Beka’s fingers dug into Yuri’s hips. While the taller man’s next move was unexpected, it wasn’t unwelcome; he took Yuri’s ass firmly in hand and lifted until Yuri took the hint and curled his legs around the wider man’s waist like a spider. Beka may have been a lightweight when it came to violence, but it didn’t follow that he was a noodle. The rolling of muscle under skin was testament to that.

 

Yuri’s mouth moved to Beka’s neck when he felt him begin to walk them out of the shower and away.

 

“I have this bed.” Beka murmured, then hissed when Yuri bit as his Adam’s apple.

 

“Don’t care. Whatever.” Yuri replied absently, licking the salty water from his shoulder and gripping tighter with his thighs.

 

It was a mercifully short trip to the bedroom, but with remarkable control Beka laid Yuri down on the bed slowly, reverentially. Yuri was forced to let him go when he pulled away to hover above him and Yuri got his eye full;

 

“Beautiful.” Beka said.

 

“I was about to say the same thing.” Yuri said, deliciously against the sheets, letting Otabek's eyes rove slowly over his exposure. Then the man finally lowered himself once more to cover Yuri’s body with own, threading one hand into the hair under his head and the other into Yuri’s hand.

 

“I want you to understand, that I waited for this, with good reason.” He said gruffly into Yuri’s ear.

 

Yuri turned his head to scent at Otabek skin; sweat and salt and water.

 

“Yes, we’ve been over this.”

 

“But now that you're here…”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“I’m not going to hold out anymore.” Beka lifted himself so he could see Yuri’s face clearly, intense and determined. “Is that ok?”

 

“It's ok.” Yuri said, all his impatient come-backs falling away and he reached up to touch Beka’s chin lightly. “I trust you. I choose you.”

 

Beka descended once more with a grunt onto Yuri's mouth, roving and certain. Yuri opened himself; his mouth, his legs, his heart and let the storm wash over him. It was Beka’s hands and Beka’s teeth and Beka’s smell. Beka’s hardness pressing against his thigh and Beka’s’ chest pressed flat between them. It was easy to let go.

 

Then Beka’s hand shifted lower, to touch Yuri’s erection and he gasped, Hips urging upwards  making him realise he was a lot more pent up than he’d realised. Beka’s quirked an eyebrow and

Yuri half-shrugged.

 

“It's been awhile since I jerked off.”

 

Beka’s face was immediately over his, then huffing hot breath onto his ear. “Did you think of me?”

 

Yuri’s hips bucked again as Beka closed his fist around his dick firmly, unmoving. “Um, maybe once. Or twice. Fuck you.” The last he said to Beka’s answering chuckle.

 

“It’s flattering.” The man mans replied, looking pleased with himself.

 

“So you don’t think of me then?”

 

Beka’s mouth kissed the soft indentation of flesh next to his hips bones. “I think of you,” another kiss, lower, at the joint of hip and crotch, “All the time.”

 

“Ah.” Yuri said stupidly, feeling the warmth of Beka’s hand around him like a friendly vice, and longed for friction. Everything felt hot, pent up, and his dick was already leaking precum. “Good to know.”

 

“Speaking of knowing.” Beka went on as he lifted Yuri’s leg, hooking it over his shoulder.

 

“Why we are still speaking has me beat.” Yuri interjected.

 

“How much do you know? About sex?”

 

Yuri tried to lever himself up onto his elbows, but they folded weakly under him when Beka’s hand clenched and let go, then shifted deliciously down to press against his ball sack. “I feel like, there is a specific question in there.”

 

“Do you know about tops and bottoms?”

 

Yuri blinked, trying to think through the pleasure sensations at his crotch. “I assumed you were a top.”

 

“I can be either.”

 

This time Yuri made the extra effort and did sit up. Beka was on his knees on the floor, while Yuri was wrapped around him, eyes dark and hot as fuck.

 

“Ok…but…”

 

“What do you want?” Beka’s asked, licking a stripe along his thigh towards his cock.

 

“I want…you inside me.” Yuri admitted, feeling his face grow hot at sounding exactly like a porn movie.

 

“Good.” Beka replied unperturbed. “That’s exactly where I want to be too.”

 

Yuri exhaled sharply when Beka’s thumb pressed down at the slit of his cock, rubbing the precum over and around. “But then I have to prepare you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

 

Yuri nodded dumbly, bringing his hand to thread into Beka’s hair. “Ok.”

 

Beka left him for only a moment before coming back holding a tube. Right, lubricant. There was that thing. Even as he watched Otabek dribble the clear liquid onto his fingers, he felt hazy at the thought of having something inside him.

 

“You can stop me anytime.” Beka told him coming for a kiss. “Say that you will.”

 

“Do I ever keep quiet when I don’t like something?”

 

Beka laughed against his mouth. “No, love, you don’t.”

 

The first digit slid in at the same time that Otabek kissed him, making duplicitous sensation.

 

One made him want to fall open, the other made his body clench.

 

“Relax.” Otabek breathed and Yuri breathed through it. It didn’t actually hurt, it was just…surprising. He was glad he actually had managed a short shower at least.

 

By the time Otabek has pushed a second finger into him, he wasn’t surprised anymore, and the scale had tilted to the point where he sought the sensation of being stretched and opened. It was new; he’d never done it himself, but Otabek’s hands were expert and for the first time he thought he was extremely glad that Otabek was most definitely _not_ a novice at sex. He opened his legs wider and angled himself towards those fingers, loving the way it felt to have them inside, the feel Otabek’s palm pressing on softly against his scrotum, and wishing for more.

 

“More.” He said aloud, as heard the way his voice trembled with need.

 

“Not yet.” Beka assured him. “It will hurt.”

 

Yuri reached down between them and grabbed Beaks dick. “It _won't_. I want this in _me now_.”

 

Beka’s face was inscrutable and Yuri could see him trying to hold back so he pulled the man closer and whispered, “Please. I want you. Stop making me wait.”

 

That was the undoing, as Yuri knew it would be. Beka removed his fingers, sliding them out with a slick sound, and pushed Yuri into the sheets once more.

 

“Just tell me when to stop.” He said raggedly, aligning himself with Yuri’s ass, rolling on a condom as he did so. The pressure of the tip against his entrance was almost too much and

Yuri pushed down against it. But Otabek’s control was legendary, and he pulled away, before kissing Yuri lightly on the lips.

 

“Breathe, love.” He said softly before he pushed through and Yuri arched, crying out.

 

There was a quiet moment, where Yuri clenched his eyes closed, digging nails into Otabek’s shoulders.

 

“Are you ok?” Otabek asked, with concern. “You’re not. It’s ok, I’ll-”

 

“No!” Yuri cried out weakly. “Stay…I just…need a second.”

 

“The pain makes you clench harder. You need to relax around me.”

 

The words were magic; they made the problem visual and the thought of encompassing

 

Otabek cock with his body was divine in itself, so he relaxed again, telling his body it was alright, seeking out the pleasure within the pain. He wanted this, _he wanted this_.

 

“There you go.” Otabek crooned in his ear, melting him, and sliding deeper. “Bite me, if you want.”

 

 This time, Yuri arched into him again, but it was pleasure that caught him. Was this some kind of kink?

 

But it wasn’t, Yuri knew it wasn’t. It was because he trusted Otabek, because the hands on his body were careful and ardent and real and Yuri had only ever wanted more and more of this man. Everything he did was a step onto the next, wonderful thing. When Otabek bottomed out, he felt himself prodded from within, filled.

 

“You fit perfectly.” Yuri said, noticing the bite mark he’d left on the olive toned shoulder.

 

“Yura.” Otabek growled, making Yuri shiver.

 

Yuri only held close, letting Otabek take the lead, happy to be held as Otabek starting a rhythm, lost in the slick feeling of his cock sliding wetly out then deep inwards once more. On the third thrust, there was a moment when something exploded inside and longed to be touched again.

 

“There.” Beka said, thrusting forward gently and touching it again, making Yuri tremble. It was good thing he wasn’t standing. He buried his head against Beka's neck and gave up on trying to keep sane. He didn’t usually like giving over control but…right then, he as happy to do so.

 

“Yura.” Beka started saying on each thrust. “Yura, look at me.”

 

When Yuri opened his eyes his made them focus on Otabek, who was leaning over him, searching.

 

“Do you love me?”

 

“I love you, Beka.” Yuri answered breathlessly, instantly, head pressing back against the blankets.

 

“I love you.” Beka said biting the exposed neck. “I love you more than anyone I’ve ever known. You’re everything.”

 

“Ah,” the sound escaped Yuri, as a hot, mountainous feeling built up inside him. Beka once again, took hold of his erection and pressed. “Ah!”

 

“I’m yours.” Beka said pumping once, twice and Yuri shudder hard, his spine curling in until his head bumped against Beka's chest bone, all the heat inside him exploding like a firework throughout his body. He felt his ass clutch around Beka’s hardness till seated deep inside him, searching to purchase, relishing he stretch, his whole being becoming a series of shattered pieces of light.

 

When he finally opened his eyes again, limp beneath Beak’s healthy weight, he found his vision blurred, and felt a track of warmth down one cheek. Even through the haze, he knew Beka was still hard. He reached up to touch the swollen lips that belonged to him now.

 

“Come, love.”

 

Beka began his rhythm once more, pulsing into Yuri’s almost over sensitive body, but the build-up was already and it didn’t take long for Beka’s face to crease and tense as he came inside. Yuri let their hands crush together, knuckles scraping, and wasn’t ashamed of the tears. There was nothing else that would have been right just then. For him. When Otabek lowered himself weakly onto his chest, he wrapped his arms around his ribs as far as they would go, cradling him through the aftermath of his climax that had surely been just as monumental for both of them.

 

“You got me.” Yuri assured quietly, thinking he understood more accurately now than before, the insecurities that had spurred Otabek’s stupid behaviour. “I’m here.”

 

Hands came around his shoulders, holding tight.

 

“Thank you. For choosing me.”

 

Yuri’s hand pushed idly through his short hair. “Idiot.”

 

“True.”

 

They shared a sloppy, post-sex kiss, and Yuri grinned.

 

“I really think I need that shower now.” he said. “But I don’t think I can walk.”

 

-8-

 

Otabek didn't know what time it was and he didn't care.

 

When he and Yuri had eventually found their way out of the shower, and once again ended up creasing the already unmade sheets some more, they’d collapsed into the blissful kind of exhaustion that came from either too much sex or too much good sex, of which both had occurred. He’d fallen asleep with his head on the soft pocket of flesh between Yuri’s shoulder and chest, fingers laced into his head Yuri’s steady breathing punctuating the air along with the lazy waves that chased the sand outside.

 

Now he woke slowly, rising to surface of consciousness without any real urgency, had burrowed beneath a pillow and lying on his stomach. He knew he was in the cabin because of the familiar sound of sea, the slight taste of salt on his tongue, and that he was definitely naked. He usually slept naked in the cabin, since clothing was totally unnecessary because of temperature and privacy.

 

It was night-time and the cabin was dark, severely so; the kind of dark that came from living somewhere where light pollution was all but non-existent. Outside was void, not even the phosphorescence from the ocean was bright enough to show its existence. Otabek’s hands found the small lamp nestled into the wall next to his, and he blinked in the sudden yellow light. Then his eyes snagged on something.

 

Otabek didn't smoke, he had always found the habit distasteful. But Yuri, ever enterprising man that he was, had found a half clam on the beach and set it on the side table. Now it held a single cigarette butt, stubbed out and cold. He must have been deeply asleep for the entire action to have gone unnoticed. Then he turned to where the angel was lying fast asleep on the pillow beside him, hair spread out over the sheets and shoulders and skin. Eyes closed and the dusky blonde of his eyelashes made a shining stripe over his cheeks, still flushed from sex or the heat, Otabek didn't care.

 

No one, besides himself, had ever shared this bed. It occurred to him, not for the first or second or even tenth time, that Yuri had wiggled into all the nooks of his life he’d considered isolated and sterile, free from the taint of other people. Places he’d always considered better unsullied, which was the way of empty things. Now he wondered if they had been the right shape for Yuri to fill them, because he fit so effortlessly, without shoving anything aside, without making Otabek feel like he was losing anything. He only felt...blessed.

 

Because there was absolutely no reason he shouldn't, he snaked a hand over Yuri’s waist and dragged him close, uncaring that is elicited a noise of complaint from his lover.

 

He knew that calling Yuri ‘his salvation’ was as overdramatic as to be childish, but he felt it, hard and his chest felt too small to breathe just then. Instead he pushed his nose against Yuri’s chest, filling his senses with musk and whatever other scent Yuri had clinging to his skin that made Otabek think of cigarettes and laughter and safety. Legs entangled, heavy and certain in the sheets, and he breathed deeply. Deep enough to breathe in the world, deep enough never to need breathe again.

 

“Why aren't we sleeping?” Yuri grumbled into his hair.

 

Otabek held tighter, while Yuri stretched then settled again more snugly into him, smiling. “You can sleep. Ignore me.”

 

“Like ignoring a mountain.” Yuri mumbled, looking at him with minor annoyance in his sleep sodden eyes. “Do you usually manhandle your lovers while they sleep?”

 

“Only this man.” Otabek smiled, loving the way Yuri’s eyes looked almost lambent in the yellowy lamplight. He was just so completely...enamoured. The ardency of his love for Yuri Plisetsky no longer set his on edge, but it was still a thing he marvelled at. He hadn't thought he was even capable of this, that anyone was, having viewed ‘love’ as an exaggeration in others, unnecessary in himself.

 

He also hadn't quite realised how completely devastating it was to make love to the object of that love. But with Yuri sanguine in his arms on other side of his orgasm, eyes shining with tears he wasn't aware of, Otabek had felt the compartment s of his life fold out and break away. To fall apart...was something he hadn't understood quite correctly.

 

No wonder people both feared and longed for it.

 

His kissed lightly at Yuri’s neck where he had bitten a generously sized hickey earlier, having adored the sound Yuri made when he had done it. Which obviously has earned him several more down his collar bone. “Are you sore?”

 

Yuri shifted against him experimentally, his leg lifting to hook over Otabek’s hip. “It's a good kind of ache, like after a workout. Now stop fucking worrying about me.”

 

“As if that possible.” Otabek answered wryly.

 

“You know what I mean.” Yuri retired giving him a lazy grin. “I'll be ready to go again tomorrow though.”

 

Beka traced a line over the perfect curvature of Yuri’s ass. There were definite bonuses to having a lover who was as determined to remain fit as Yuri was. “It seems a long way.”

 

“And two seconds ago you were worrying that I still hurt. Hypocrite.”

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

“You're not sorry.”

 

“I'm not sorry.”

 

Otabek’s libido had always been easy to ignore when he was in the mood, and with Yuri all to himself that was his natural state. But he was cut off when Yuri yelped.

 

“What? What's wrong?” he started back instantly, thinking he’d hurt the blond.

 

“What is that?” Yuri demanded, staring at the end of the bed. Otabek’s eyes turned to follow and he sighed.

 

“That's Sophocles.”

 

They both stared at the creature at the end of the bed, a rust coloured cat larger than average but smaller than a dog, missing one eye behind a scar and perched at the bed edge.

 

“What,” Yuri breathed, “the fuck. You didn't say you had a cat.”

 

“I don't really.” Otabek sighed, disentangling himself from Yuri and sitting up. Sophocles didn't move a muscle, but continued his monocular glare at them both. “He came with the island. He doesn't bother me and I don't need to feed him. He lives here more than I do.”

 

“You leave him here on the island? Yuri asked, his shock fading now as he sat his beside Otabek, now curious.

 

“I tried taking him off once.” Otabek explained. “I didn't get as far as the beach before he sliced my hand and escaped back into the greenery.”

 

“So he just...lives here?”

 

“I suppose I took over his space. He was here first. We tolerate each other.”

 

Otabek stared back stoically at the feline, who for some reason hadn't left his perch. He didn't usually come into the house let alone the bedroom when Otabek was there, though he obviously enjoyed the bed since Otabek often found cat hair on it when he visited. Or little dead creatures.

 

“Shoo.” he tried half-heartedly, vaguely annoyed at the interruption. But Yuri caught his hand and firmly put it down.

 

“Don't be an asshole.” Yuri chided, leaving Otabek nonplussed. Yuri then, got out of the bed, causing Sophocles to crouch as if ready to spring, but Yuri only disappeared into the corridor, his perfectly smooth skin vanishing from sight.

 

“I regret naming you.” Otabek told the cat with little heat before Yuri returned, holding an opened tin of tuna. He set it down in the vicinity of the cat and settled himself against the headboard, pulling Otabek back with him.

 

“He won't eat it.” Otabek told him, knowing from experience.

 

“Something tells me you know shit about strays.”

 

Otabek gave him an assessing look. “I would say I know something.”

 

Yuri rolled his eyes. “Very clever. But I’m talking about actual cats, Mr Clever Dick.”

 

“I suppose not.” Otabek conceded with a small grin.

 

There was a bizarre staring game between the three of them for several minutes. But the scent of tuna was wafting in the air, and Otabek saw Sophocles’ nose twitch. Suddenly, the cat swiped a quick paw at the tin, knocking it off the bed and into the hardwood. He followed it down and they heard the unmistakable sound of wet munching a few seconds later.

 

“He wouldn't like an audience, if he’s alone all the time.” Yuri told him calmly.

 

It wasn't lost on Otabek that there was a kind of life metaphor here, echoes of past hurts now calloused into scars.

 

“I wanted to send you a photo of him, that time you were gone.” Otabek told him. “You were sending me so many and all I could think have was that I didn't know how to speak to you then. That and every time I tried to take a photo, that creature disappeared.”

 

“He senses you're not a cat person.” Yuri grinned. “It's alright, I got to meet him in person in the end.”

 

“He let you feed him.”

 

“I used to feed the strays, when Yaakov sent me out to Push. Made the time pass.”

 

Otabek wanted to find something poignant to say, but was caught by realisation than in a very real way, they were both strays, who had found homes in each other.

 

“Yuri.” he tried, feeling it was pathetic. But words had never come easily to him.

 

“Stop that.” Yuri flicked the centre of his forehead making him blink. “That's not us. We are not that. We are who we are now, and here. So stop, ok?”

 

Otabek rubbed at the sting on his head and smiled. “Ok.”

 

“Now, are we going to sleep, or did you have other things in mind?” Yuri went on, straddling

Otabek in a lithe movement.

 

“The cat is here.”

 

“He won't mind.”

 

“Not what I meant-”

 

But Yuri closed his mouth with his own, not giving a shit.

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure that's it for now. Any drabbles will be on my Tumblr.
> 
> There may r may not be a short story set in the future, with all the shadow people....


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